Gbe  Worte 


of  J£.  p.  IRoe 


VOLUME    TWELVE 


A    FACE    ILLUMINED 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW   YORK 
P.    P,    COLLIER    &    SON 


ia 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I 
A  Face .    12 

CHAPTER  II 
Ida  Mayhew 22 

CHAPTER  III 
An  Artist's  Freak 32 

CHAPTER    IV 
A  Parthian  Arrow 38 

CHAPTER     V 
Spite 45 

CHAPTER    VI 
Reckless  Words  and  Deeds 52 

CHAPTER    VII 
Another  Feminine  Problem     ........    61 

CHAPTER     VIII 

Glimpses  of  Tragedy ,    ,    ,    ,    <    72 

CHAPTER    IX 
Unexpectedly  Thrown  Together 81 

CHAPTER   X 
Phrases  too  Suggestive 90 

CHAPTER   XI 

A  "  Tableau  Vivant" .    .    .    .    98 

(5) 


6  CONTENTS 

CHAPTEE   XII 
Miss  Mayhew  is  Puzzled «...  104 

CHAPTEE   XIII 
Nature's  Broken  Promise 113 

CHAPTEE   XIV 
A  Kevelation 119 

CHAPTEE   XV 
Contrasts 130 

CHAPTEE   XVI 
Out  Among  Shadows 140 

CHAPTEE   XVII 

New  Forces  Developing 149 

CHAPTEE   XVIII 
Love  Put  to  Work 158 

CHAPTEE   XIX 
Man's  Highest  Honor 165 

CHAPTEE   XX 
A  Wretched  Secret  that  Must  be  Kept     .    .    .  169 

CHAPTEE   XXI 
A  Deliberate  Wooer 174 

CHAPTEE   XXII 
A  Vain  Wish 181 

CHAPTEE   XXIII 
Jennie  Burton's  Eemedies 186 

CHAPTEE   XXIV 
A  Hateful,  Wretched  Life 192 

CHAPTEE    XXV 
Half-Truths 198 


CONTENTS  7 

CHAPTER   XXVI 
Sunday  T able-Talk 202 

CHAPTER  XXYII 
A  Family  Group 211 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 
Rather  Volcanic.     . 216 

CHAPTER  XXIX 
Evil  Lives  Cast  Dark  Shadows 224 

CHAPTER  XXX 
The  Deliberate  Wooer  Speaks  First 229 

CHAPTER  XXXI 
An  Emblem 236 

CHAPTER  XXXII 
The  Dangers  of  Despair 244 

CHAPTER   XXXIII 
"Hope  Dies  Hard" 251 

CHAPTER  XXXIV 
Puzzled 261 

CHAPTER  XXXV 

Desperately  Wounded .  270 

CHAPTER    XXXVI 

Temptation's  Voice •  282 

CHAPTER   XXXVII 
Voices  of  Nature •  290 

CHAPTER    XXXVIII 
A  Good  Man  Speaks ■  297 

CHAPTER  XXXIX 
Van  Berg's  Escape 311 

CHAPTER  XL 
Van  Berg's  Conclusions. 318 


8  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XLI 
The  Protestant  Confessional 322 

CHAPTER  XLII 
The  Corner-Stone  of  Character 338 

CHAPTER  XLIII 
A  "Heavenly  Mystery" 347 

CHAPTER  XLIY 
"The  Garden  of  Eden" 354 

CHAPTER  XLV 
Problems  Beyond  Art 375 

CHAPTER   XLVI 
A  Resolute  Philosopher 388 

CHAPTER   XLVII 
The  Concert  Garden  Again .  399 

CHAPTER  XLVIII 
Ida's  Temptation 413 

CHAPTER  XLIX 
The  Blind  God 429 

CHAPTER   L 
Swept  Away 442 

CHAPTER  LI 
From  Dee?  Experience 453 

CHAPTER  LII 
An  Illumined  Face 468 

CHAPTER   LIII 
A  Night's  Vigil 477 

CHAPTER  LW 
Life  and  Trust 488 


A  FACE  ILLUMINED 


A  FACE  ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  I  .     ;r,,.,r,  . 

.  o  «      •  "     ,*    •  »    » 

A    FACE 

ALTHOUGH  the  sun  was  approaching  the  horizon,  its 
slanting  rays  found  a  young  artist  still  bending  over 
his  easel.  That  his  shoulders  are  broad  is  apparent  at 
a  glance;  that  upon  them  is  placed  a  shapely  head,  well 
thatched  with  crisp  black  hair,  is  also  seen  at  once ;  that  the 
head  is  not  an  empty  one  is  proved  by  the  picture  on  the 
easel,  which  is  sufficiently  advanced  to  show  correct  and 
spirited  drawing.  A  brain  that  can  direct  the  hand  how  to 
do  one  thing  well,  is  like  a  general  who  has  occupied  a 
strategic  point  which  will  give  him  the  victory  if  he  follow 
up  his  advantage. 

A  knock  at  the  door  is  not  answered  at  once  by  the  in- 
tent, and  preoccupied  artist,  but  its  sharp  and  impatient  repe- 
tition secures  the  rather  reluctant  invitation, 

"Come  in,"  and  even  as  he  spoke  he  bent  forward  to  give 
another  stroke. 

"Six  o'clock,  and  working  still!"  cried  the  intruder. 
"You  will  keep  the  paint  market  active,  if  you  achieve  noth- 
ing else  as  an  artist." 

"Heigho !  Ik,  is  that  you  ?"  said  he  of  the  palette,  good- 
naturedly  ;  and  rising  slowly  he  gave  a  lingering  look  at  his 
work,  then  turned  and  greeted  his  friend  with  the  quiet  cor- 
diality of  long  and  familiar  acquaintance.  "What  a  mar- 
plot you  are  with  your  idle  ways!"  he  added.     "Sit  down 

(13) 


14  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

here  and  make  yourself  useful  for  once  by  doing  nothing  for 
ten  minutes.  I  am  in  just  the  mood  and  have  just  the  light 
for  a  bit  of  work  which  perhaps  I  can  never  do  as  well 
again,"  and  the  artist  returned  promptly  to  his  picture. 

In  greeting  his  friend  he  had  revealed  that  he  was  above 
middle  height,  that  he  had  full  black  eyes  that  were  not  only 
good  for  seeing,  but  could  also,  if  he  chose,  give  great  empha- 
sis to  his  words,  and  at  times  be  even  more  expressive.  A 
thick  mustache  covered  his  lip,  but  the  rest  of  his  face  was 
cleanly  shaven,  and  was  strong  and  decided  in  its  outlines 
c  a  thee  thai)  handsome. 

"They  say  a  woman's  work  is  never  done,"  remarked  Ik 
Stanton,  dropping  into  the  easiest  chair  in  the  studio,  "and 
for  this  reason,  were  there  no  other,  your  muse  is  evidently 
of  the  feminine  persuasion.  I  also  admit  that  she  is  a  lady  of 
great  antiquity.  Indeed  I  would  place  her  nearer  to  the  time 
when  'Adam  delved  and  Eve  span'  than  to  the  classic  age." 

"My  dear  Ik,"  responded  the  artist,  "I  am  often  at  a  loss 
to  know  whether  I  love  or  despise  you  most.  If  a  little  of 
the  whirr  of  our  great  grandam's  spinning  wheel  would  only 
get  into  your  brain  the  world  might  hear  from  you.  You  are 
a  man  of  unbounded  stomach  and  unbounded  heart,  and  so 
you  have  won  all  there  is  of  me  except  my  head,  and  that  dis- 
approves of  you." 

"A  fig  for  the  world!  what  good  will  it  do  me  or  it  to 
have  it  hear  from  me  ?  you  ambitious  fellows  are  already 
making  such  a  din  that  the  poor  old  world  is  half  ready  for 
Bedlam;  and  would  go  stark  mad  were  it  not  for  us  quiet, 
easy-going  people,  who  have  time  for  a  good  dinner  and  a 
snack  between  meals.  You've  got  a  genius  that's  like  a 
windmill  in  a  trade  wind,  always  in  motion;  you  are  worth 
more  money  than  I  shall  ever  have,  but  you  are  the  greatest 
drudge  in  the  studio  building,  and  work  as  many  hours  as  a 
house-painter." 

"When  your  brain  once  gets  in  motion,  Ik,  fiction  will  be 
its  natural  product.  You  must  admit  that  I  have  not  painted 
many  pictures." 


A    FACE  15 

"That  is  one  of  the  things  I  complain  of;  I,  your  bosom 
friend  and  familiar,  your,  I  might  add,  guardian  angel — I, 
who  have  so  often  saved  your  life  by  quenching  the  flame  of 
your  consuming  genius  with  a  hearty  dinner,  have  been  able 
to  obtain  one  picture  only  from  you,  and  as  one  might  draw  a 
tooth.  Your  pictures  are  like  old  maids'  children — they  must 
be  so  perfect  that  they  can't  exist  at  all.  But  come,  the 
ten  minutes  are  up.  Here's  the  programme  for  the  evening 
— a  drive  in  the  Park  and  a  little  dinner  at  a  cool  restaurant 
near  Thomas's  Garden,  and  then  the  concert.  That  prince 
of  musical  caterers  has  made  a  fine  selection  for  to-night,  and, 
with  the  cigar-stand  on  one  side  of  us  and  the  orchestra  on 
the  other,  we  are  certain  to  kill  a  couple  of  hours  that  will 
die  like  swans." 

"You  mention  the  cigar-stand  first." 

"Why  not?     Smoke  is  more  real  than  empty  sound." 

"Are  you  not  equally  empty,  Ik,  save  after  dinner? 
How  have  the  preceding  hours  of  this  long  day  been  killed  ?" 

"Like  boas.  They  have  enfolded  me  with  a  weary 
weight." 

"The  snakes  in  your  comparison  are  larger  than  your 
pun,  and  the  pun,  rather  than  yourself,  suggests  a  constrict- 
or's squeeze." 

"Come,  you  are  only  abusing  me  to  gain  time,  and  you 
may  gain  too  much.  My  horses  have  more  mettle  than  their 
master,  and  may  carry  off  my  trap  and  groom  to  parts  un- 
known, while  you  are  wasting  paint  and  words.  You  are  like 
the  animals  at  the  Park,  that  are  good-natured  only  after 
they  are  fed.  So  shut  up  your  old  paint  shop,  and  come 
along;  we  will  shorten  our  ride  and  lengthen  our  dinner." 

With  mutual  chaffing  and  laughter  the  young  men  at  last 
went  down  to  where  a  liveried  coachman  and  a  pair  of  hand- 
some bays  were  in  waiting.  Taking  the  high  front  seat  and 
gathering  up  the  reins,  Ik  Stanton,  with  his  friend  Harold 
Van  Berg  at  his  side,  bowled  away  toward  the  Park  at  a 
rapid  pace. 

Harold  Van  Berg  was,  in  truth,  something  of  a  paradox. 


16  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

He  was  an  artist,  and  yet  was  rich;  he  had  inherited  large 
wealth,  and  yet  had  formed  habits  of  careful  industry.  The 
majority  of  his  young  acquaintances,  who  had  been  launched 
from  homes  like  his  own,  were  known  only  as  sons  of  their 
fathers,  and  degenerate  sons  at  that.  Van  Berg  was  already 
winning  a  place  among  men  on  the  ground  of  what  he  was 
and  could  do  himself.. 

It  were  hard  to  say  which  was  the  stronger  motive,  his 
ambition  or  the  love  of  his  art ;  but  it  seemed  certain  that  be- 
tween the  two,  such  talent  as  he  had  been  endowed  with 
would  be  developed  quite  thoroughly.  And  he  did  possess 
decided  talent,  if  not  genius.  But  his  artistic  gift  accorded 
with  his  character,  and  was  controlled  by  judgment,  correct 
taste,  and  intellectuality  rather  than  by  strong  and  erratic 
impulses.  His  aims  were  definite  and  decided  rather  than 
vague  and  diffusive;  but  his  standards  were  so  high  that,  thus 
far,  he  had  scarcely  attempted  more  than  studies  that  were 
like  the  musician's  scales  by  which  he  seeks  to  acquire  a  skill 
in  touch  that  shall  enable  him  to  render  justly  the  works  of 
the  great  composers. 

His  family  had  praised  his  work  unstintedly,  and  honestly 
thought  it  wonderful;  he  had  also  been  deluged  with  that 
kind  of  flattery  which  relaxes  the  rules  of  criticism  in  favor 
of  the  wealthy.  Thus  it  was  not  strange  that  the  young  fel- 
low, at  one  time,  believed  that  he  was  born  to  greatness  by  a 
kindly  decree  of  fate.  But  as  his  horizon  widened  he  was 
taught  better.  His  mind,  fortunately,  grew  faster  than  his 
vanity,  and  as  he  compared  his  crude  but  promising  work 
with  that  of  mature  genius,  he  was  not  stricken  with  that 
most  helpless  phase  of  blindness — the  inability  to  see  the  su- 
periority of  others  to  one's  self.  Every  day,  therefore,  of 
study  and  observation  was  now  chastening  Harold  Van  Berg 
and  preparing  him  to  build  his  future  success  on  the  solid 
ground  of  positive  merit  as  compared  with  that  of  other  and 
gifted  artists. 

Van  Berg's  taste  and  talent  led  him  to  select,  as  his  spe- 
cialty, the  human  form  and  countenance,  and  he  chiefly  de- 


A    FACE  17 

lighted  in  those  faces  which  were  expressive  of  some  striking 
or  subtle  characteristic  of  the  indwelling  mind.  He  would 
never  be  content  to  paint  surfaces  correctly,  giving  to  feat- 
ures merely  their  exact  proportions.  Whether  the  face  were 
historical,  ideal  or  a  portrait,  the  controlling  trait  or  traits 
of  the  spirit  within  must  shine  through,  or  else  he  regarded 
the  picture  as  scarcely  half  finished. 

A  more  sincere  idolator  than  Van  Berg,  in  his  worship  of 
beauty,  never  existed;  but  it  was  the  beauty  of  a  complete 
man  or  a  complete  woman.  Even  in  his  early  youth  he  had 
not  been  so  sensuous  as  to  be  captivated  by  that  opaque  frag- 
ment of  a  woman — an  attractive  form  devoid  of  a  mind.  In- 
deed with  the  exception  of  a  few  boyish  follies,  his  art  had 
been  his  mistress  thus  far,  and  it  was  beginning  to  absorb 
both  heart  and  brain. 

With  what  a  quiet  pulse — with  what  a  complacent  sense 
of  security  we  often  meet  those  seemingly  trivial  events 
which  may  change  the  whole  character  of  our  lives!  The 
ride  had  been  taken,  the  dinner  enjoyed,  and  the  two  friends 
were  seated  in  the  large  cool  hallway  off  the  concert  garden, 
where  they  could  smoke  without  offence.  The  unrivalled 
leader,  Thomas,  had  just  lifted  his  baton — that  magic  wand 
whose  graceful  yet  mysterious  motion  evokes  with  equal  ease, 
seemingly,  the  thunder  of  a  storm,  the  song  of  a  bird,  the 
horrid  din  of  an  inferno,  or  a  harmony  so  pure  and  lofty 
as  to  suggest  heavenly  strains.  One  of  Beethoven's  exquisite 
symphonies  was  to  be  rendered,  and  Van  Berg  threw  away 
his  half -burned  cigar,  settled  himself  in  his  chair  and  glanced 
around  with  a  congratulatory  air,  as  if  to  say,  "Now  we  are 
to  have  one  of  those  pleasures  which  fills  the  cup  of  life  to 
overflowing." 

Oh,  that  casual  glance !  It  was  one  of  those  things  that 
we  might  justly  call  ^little.,?  Could  anything  have  been 
more  trivial,  slight,  and  apparently  inconsequential  than  this 
half  involuntary  act?  Indeed  it  was  too  aimless  even  to 
have  been  prompted  by  a  conscious  effort  of  the  will.  But 
this  book  is  one  of  the  least  results  of  that  momentary  sweep 


18  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

of  the  eye.  Another  was,  that  Van  Berg  did  not  enjoy  the 
symphony  at  all,  and  was  soon  in  a  very  bad  humor.  That 
casual  glance  had  revealed,  not  far  away,  a  face  that  with 
his  passion  for  beauty,  at  once  riveted  his  attention.  His 
slight  start  and  faint  exclamation,  caused  Ik  Stanton  to  look 
around  also,  and  then,  with  a  mischievous  and  observant 
twinkle  in  his  eyes,  the  bon  vivant  resumed  his  cigar,  which 
no  symphony  could  exorcise  from  his  mouth. 

At  a  table  just  within  the  main  audience  room,  there  sat 
a  young  lady  and  gentleman.  Even  Van  Berg,  who  made  it 
his  business  to  discover  and  study  beauty,  was  soon  compelled 
to  admit  to  himself  that  he  had  never  seen  finer  features  than 
were  possessed  by  this  fair  young  stranger.  Her  nose  was 
straight,  her  upper  lip  was  short,  and  might  have  been  mod- 
elled from  Cupid's  bow ;  her  chin  did  not  form  a  perfect  oval 
after  the  cold  and  severe  Grecian  type,  but  was  slightly  firm 
and  prominent,  receding  with  decided  yet  exquisite  curves 
to  the  white  full  throat.  Her  cheeks  had  a  transparent  fair- 
ness, in  which  the  color  came  and  went  instead  of  lingering  in 
any  conventional  place  and  manner ;  her  hair  was  too  light  to 
be  called  brown  and  too  dark  to  be  golden,  but  was  shaded 
like  that  on  which  sunlight  falls  in  one  of  Bouguereau's  pic- 
tures of  "Mother  and  Child;"  and  it  rippled  away  from  a 
broad  low  brow  in  natural  waves,  half  hiding  the  small,  shell- 
like ears. 

Van  Berg  at  first  thought  her  eyes  to  be  her  finest  feat- 
ure, but  soon  regarded  them  as  the  worst,  and  for  the  same 
reason,  as  he  speedily  discovered,  that  the  face,  each  feature 
of  which  seemed  perfect,  became,  after  brief  study,  so  unsat- 
isfactory as  to  cause  positive  annoyance.  To  a  passing  glance 
they  were  large,  dark,  beautiful  eyes,  but  they  lost  steadily 
under  thoughtful  scrutiny.  A  flashing  gem  may  seem  real 
at  first,  but  as  its  meretricious  rays  are  analyzed,  they  lose 
their  charm  because  revealing  a  stone  not  only  worthless  but 
worse  than  worthless,  since  it  mocks  us  with  a  false  resem- 
blance, thus  raising  hopes  only  to  disappoint  them.  t  The 
other  features  remained  beautiful  and  satisfactory  to  Van 


A    FACE  19 

Berg's  furtive  observation  because  further  removed  from  the 
informing  mind,  and  therefore  more  justly  capable  of  admi- 
ration upon  their  own  merits ;  but  the  eyes  are  too  near  akin 
to  the  animating  spirit  not  to  suffer  from  the  relationship, 
should  the  spirit  be  essentially  defective. 

That  the  beautiful  face  was  but  a  transparent  mask  of  a 
deformed,  dwarfed,  contemptible  little  soul  was  speedily 
made  evident.  The  cream  and  a  silly  flirtation  with  her 
empty-headed  attendant— a  pallid  youth  who  parted  his  hair 
like  a  girl  and  had  no  other  parts  worth  naming — absorbed 
her  wholly,  and  the  exquisite  symphony  was  no  more  to  her 
than  an  annoying  din  which  made  it  difficult  to  hear  her  com- 
panion's compliments  that  were  as  sweet,  heavy,  and  stale  as 
Maillard's  chocolates,  left  a  year  on  the  shelves.  Their 
mutual  giggle  and  chatter  at  last  became  so  obtrusive  that  an 
old  and  music-loving  German  turned  his  broad  face  toward 
them,  and  hissed  out  the  word  "Hist!"  with  such  vindictive 
force  as  to  suggest  that  all  the  winds  had  suddenly  broken 
loose  from  the  cave  of  Eolus. 

Ik  Stanton,  who  had  been  watching  Van  Berg's  per- 
turbed, lowering  face,  and  the  weak  comedy  at  the  adjacent 
table,  was  obviously  much  amused,  although  he  took  pains 
to  appear  blind  to  it  all  and  kept  his  back,  as  far  as  possible, 
toward  the  young  lady. 

The  German's  "hist"  had  been  so  fierce  as  to  be  almost 
like  a  rap  from  a  policeman's  club,  and  there  was  an  enforced 
and  temporary  suspension  of  the  inane  chatter.  The  at- 
tendant youth  tried  to  assume  the  incensed  and  threatening 
look  with  which  an  ancient  gallant  would  have  laid  his  hand 
on  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  But  some  animals  and  men  only 
become  absurd  when  they  try  to  appear  formidable.  It  was 
ludicrous  to  see  him  weakly  frowning  at  the  sturdy  Teuton 
who  had  already  forgotten  his  existence  as  completely  as  he 
might  that  of  a  buzzing  mosquito  he  had  exterminated  with  a 

slap. 

The  young  girl's  face  grew  even  less  satisfactory  as  it 
became  more  quiet.     A  muddy  pool,  rippled  by  a  breeze,  will 


20  4    FACE   ILLUMINED 

sparkle  quite  brilliantly  while  in  motion;  but  when  quiet  it 
is  seen  the  more  plainly  to  be  only  a  shallow  pool.  At  first 
the  beautiful  features  expressed  only  petty  resentment  at  the 
public  rebuke.  As  this  faintly  lurid  light  faded  out  and  left 
the  countenance  in  its  normal  state  it  became  more  heavy  and 
earthy  in  its  expression  than  Van  Berg  would  have  deemed 
possible,  and  it  ever  remained  a  mystery  to  him  how  features 
so  delicate,  beautiful,  and  essentially  feminine  could  com- 
bine to  show  so  clearly  that  the  indwelling  nature  was  largely 
alloyed  with  clay.  There  was  not  that  dewy  freshness  in 
the  fair  young  face  which  one  might  expect  to  see  in  the 
early  morning  of  existence.  The  Lord  from  heaven  breathed 
the  breath  of  life  into  the  first  fair  woman;  but  this  girl 
might  seem  to  have  been  the  natural  product  of  evolution, 
and  her  soul  to  be  as  truly  of  the  earth  as  her  body. 

It  was  evident  that  she  had  been  made  familiar  too  early 
and  thoroughly  with  conventional  and  fashionable  society, 
and,  although  this  fraction  of  the  world  is  seldom  without  its 
gloves,  its  touch  nevertheless  had  soiled  her  nature.  Her 
face  did  not  express  any  active  or  malignant  principle  of  evil ; 
but  a  close  observer,  like  Van  Berg,  in  whom  the  man  was  in 
the  ascendant  over  the  animal,  could  detect  the  absence  of 
the  serene,  maidenly  purity  of  expression,  characteristic  of 
those  girls  who  have  obtained  their  ideas  of  life  from  good 
mothers,  rather  than  from  French  novels,  French  plays,  and 
a  phase  of  society  that  borrows  its  inspiration  from  fashion- 
able Paris. 

With  the  ending  of  the  symphony  the  chatting  and  flirt- 
ing at  the  table  began  again,  to  Van  Berg's  increased  disgust. 
Indeed,  he  was  so  irritated  that  he  could  no  longer  control 
himself,  and  rose  abruptly,  saying  to  his  companion : 

"Come,  let  us  walk  outside. " 

His  sudden  movement  drew  the  young  lady's  attention, 
but  by  this  time  he  had  only  his  broad  shoulders  turned  to- 
ward her.  She  saw  Ik  Stanton  looking  at  her,  however,  with 
a  face  full  of  mischief,  and  she  recognized  him  with  a  nod 
and  a  smile. 


A    FACE  21 


He,  with  the  familiarity  that  indicated  relationship,  but 
with  a  motion  too  slight  to  be  noticed  by  others,  threw  her  a 
kiss  from  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  as  one  might  toss  a  sugar- 
plum to  a  child,  and  then  followed  his  friend. 


22  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  II 

IDA     MAYHEW 


« 


w 


HAT  is  the  matter,  Van  ?  You  remind  me  of  a 
certain  horned  beast  that  has  seen  a  red  flag," 
said  Ik  Stanton,  linking  his  arm  in  that  of 
Van  Berg's. 

"An  apt  illustration.  I  have  been  baited  and  irritated 
for  the  last  twenty  minutes." 

"I  thought  you  enjoyed  Beethoven's  music,  and  surely 
Thomas  rendered  it  divinely  to-night." 

"That  is  one  of  the  chief  of  my  grievances.  I  haven't 
been  able  to  hear  a  note,"  was  the  wrathful  response. 

u That's  strange,"  said  Stanton  with  mock  gravity. 
"Were  I  not  afraid  you  would  take  it  amiss  I  would 
hint  that  your  ears  are  of  goodly  size.  How  comes  it  that 
they  have  so  suddenly  failed  you?" 

"Having  seen  your  dinner  you  have  no  eyes  for  anything 
else.     If  you  had,  you  would  have  seen  a  face  near  us." 

"I  saw  a  score  of  faces  near  us.  A  German  had  one  with 
the  area  of  an  acre." 

"Was  he  the  one  who  said,  'hist,'  like  a  blast  from  the 
north?" 

"From  a  porpoise  rather." 

"Did  you  observe  the  girl  toward  whom  his  gusty  rebuke 
was  directed  ?' ' 

"Yes,  an  inoffensive  young  lady." 

"Inoffensive,  indeed!"  interrupted  Van  Berg.  "She  has 
put  me  into  purgatory. ' ' 

"You  do  seem  quite  ablaze.     Well,  you  are  not  the  first 


IDA    MAYHEW  23 

one  that  she  has  put  there.     But  really,  Van,  I  did  not  know 
that  you  were  so  inflammable." 

"If  you  had  any  of  the  instincts  of  an  artist  you  would 
know  that  I  am  inflamed  with  no  gentler  feeling  than  anger." 

"Why!  what  has  the  poor  child  done  to  you?" 

"She  is  not  a  child.     She  knows  too  much  about  some 
things." 

"I've  no  doubt  she  is  better  than  either  you  or  I,"  said 
Stanton,  sharply. 

"That  fact  would  be  far  from  proving  her  a  saint." 

"What  the  dickens  makes  you  so  vindictive  against  the 
girl?" 

"Because  she  has  the  features  of  an  angel  and  the  face 
of  a  fool.  What  business  has  a  woman  to  mock  and  disap- 
point one  so!  When  I  first  saw  her  I  thought  I  had  discov- 
ered a  prize — a  new  revelation  of  beauty;  but  a  moment 
later  she  looked  so  ineffably  silly  that  I  felt  as  if  I  had  bit- 
ten into  an  apple  of  Sodom.  Of  course  the  girl  is  nothing 
to  me.  I  never  saw  her  before  and  hope  I  may  never  see 
her  again;  bat  her  features  were  so  perfect  that  I  could  not 
help  looking  at  them,  and  the  more  I  looked  the  more  an- 
noyed I  became  to  find  that,  instead  of  being  blended  to- 
gether into  a  divine  face  by  the  mind  within,  they  were  the 
reluctant  slaves  of  as  picayune  a  soul  as  ever  maintained  its 
microscopic  existence  in  a  human  body.  It  is  exasperating 
to  think  what  that  face  might  be,  and  to  see  what  it  is. 
How  can  nature  make  such  absurd  blunders  ?  The  idea  of 
building  so  fair  a  temple  for  such  an  ugly  little  divinity!" 

"I  thought  you  artists  were  satisfied  with  flesh  and  blood 
women,  if  only  put  together  in  a  way  pleasing  to  your  fas- 
tidious eyes." 

"If  nature  had  designed  that  women  should  consist  only 
of  flesh  and  blood,  one  would  have  to  be  content;  but  no 
one  save  the  'unspeakable  Turk'  believes  in  such  a  woman, 
or  wants  her.  Who  admires  such  a  fragment  of  a  woman 
save  the  man  that  is  as  yet  undeveloped  beyond  the  animal  ? 
My  mother  is  my  friend,  my  companion,  my   inspiration. 


24  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

The  idea  of  yonder  silly  creature  being  the  companion 
of  a  man." 

"Good-evening,  Coz, "  said  a  voice  that  was  a  trifle  shrill 
and  loud  for  a  public  place,  and  looking  up,  the  friends  saw 
the  subject  of  their  conversation,  who,  with  her  spindling 
attendant,  was  also  taking  a  promenade. 

Stanton  raised  his  hat  with  a  smile,  while  Van  Berg 
touched  his  but  coldly. 

"I  wish  to  speak  with  you,"  she  said  in  passing. 

"I  will  join  you  soon,"  Stanton  answered. 

"So  this  lady  is  your  cousin?"  remarked  Van  Berg. 

"She  is,"  said  Stanton,  laughing. 

"You  will  do  me  the  justice  to  remember  that  I  spoke 
in  ignorance  of  the  fact.  If  I  were  you  I  would  give  her 
some  cousinly  advice." 

"Bless  you!  I  have,  but  it's  like  pouring  water  on  a 
duck's  back.  For  one  sensible  word  I  can  say  to  her  she 
gets  a  thousand  compliments  from  rich  and  empty-headed 
young  fools,  like  the  one  now  with  her,  who  will  eventually 
be  worth  half  a  million  in  his  own  name.  I  was  interested 
to  see  how  her  face  would  strike  you,  and  I  imagine  that 
your  estimate  has  hit  pretty  close  upon  the  truth,  for  in  my 
judgment  she  is  the  prettiest  and  silliest  girl  in  New  York. 
She  has  recently  returned  from  a  year's  absence  abroad, 
and  I  was  in  hopes  that  she  would  find  something  to  re- 
member besides  her  own  handsome  face,  but  I  imagine  she 
has  seen  little  else  than  it  and  the  admiring  glances  which 
everywhere  follow  her.  Take  us  as  we  average,  Van,  Mr. 
Darwin  has  not  got  us  very  far  along  yet,  and  if  the  face 
of  a  woman  suits  us  we  are  apt  to  stare  at  it  as  far  as  such 
politeness  as  we  possess  permits,  without  giving  much 
thought  to  her  intellectual  endowments.  When  it  comes 
to  companionship,  however,  I  agree  with  you.  Heaven 
help  the  man  who  is  tied  to  such  a  woman  for  life.  Still, 
in  the  fashionable  crowd  my  cousin  trains  with,  this  makes 
little  difference.  The  husband  goes  his  way  and  the  wife 
hers,  and  they  are  not  long  in  getting  a  good  ways  apart. 


IDA    MAYHEW  25 

But  come,  let  me  introduce  you,  I  have  always  thought  the 
little  fool  has  some  fine  gold  mingled  with  her  dross,  and 
you  are  such  a  skilful  analyst  that  perhaps  you  will  dis- 
cover it." 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  said  Van  Berg,  with  a  slight  expres- 
sion of  disgust.  "I  could  not  speak  civilly  to  a  lady  that  I 
had  just  seen  giggling  and  flirting  through  one  of  Beetho- 
ven's finest  symphonies." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Stanton,  laughing,  "I  am  rather  glad 
to  find  one  man  who  is  not  drawn  to  her  pretty  face  like  a 
moth  to  a  candle.     I  will  join  you  again  by  and  by. " 

Van  Berg  sat  down  in  one  of  the  little  stalls  that  stood 
open  to  the  main  promenade,  and  saw  his  friend  thread  his 
way  among  the  moving  figures,  and  address  his  cousin.  As 
she  turned  to  speak  with  Stanton,  the  artist  received  again 
that  vivid  impression  of  beauty,  which  her  face  ever  caused 
before  time  was  given  for  closer  scrutiny.  Indeed  from 
his  somewhat  distant  point  of  observation,  and  in  the  less 
searching  light,  the  fatal  flaw  could  scarcely  be  detected. 
Her  affected  tones  and  silly  words  could  not  be  heard,  and 
he  saw  only  dark  lustrous  eyes  lighting  up  features  that 
were  almost  a  revelation  even  to  him  with  his  artistic  famil- 
iarity with  beauty. 

"If  I  could  always  keep  her  at  about  that  distance,"  he 
muttered,  "and  arrange  the  lights  and  shadows  in  which 
to  view  her  face,  I  could  not  ask  for  a  better  study,  for  she 
would  give  me  a  basis  of  perfect  beauty,  and  I  could  add 
any  expression  or  characteristic  that  I  desired."  And  now 
he  feasted  his  eyes  as  a  compensation,  in  part,  for  the  an- 
noyance she  had  caused  him  in  the  glare  of  the  audience 
room. 

He  soon  saw  a  frown  lower  upon  her  hitherto  laughing 
face  like  the  shadow  of  a  passing  cloud,  and  it  was  evident 
that  something  had  been  said  that  was  not  agreeable  to  her 
vanity. 

A  moment  or  two  after  Stanton  had  joined  the  young 

lady  her  escort  for  the  evening  had  excused  himself  for  a 

2— Roe— XII 


26  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

brief  time,  and  had  left  the  cousins  together.  She  had  then 
asked,  "I  say,  Ik,  who  was  that  gentleman  you  were  talking 
with?" 

''He's  an  old  friend  of  mine." 

"He's  not  an  old  friend  of  any  one.  He  is  young  and 
quite  good-looking,  or  rather  he  has  a  certain  distingue  air 
that  makes  one  look  at  him  twice.     Who  is  he  ?" 

"He  is  an  artist,  and  if  he  lives  and  works  as  he  is  now 
doing,  through  an  ordinary  lifetime,  he  will  indeed  be  dis- 
tinguished.    In  fact,  he  stands  high  already." 

"How  nice,"  she  exclaimed. 

"He  has  another  characteristic,  which  you  will  appreci- 
ate far  more  than  anything  he  will  ever  accomplish  with  his 
brush — he  is  very  rich." 

"Why!  he's  perfectly  splendid.  Whoever  heard  of  such 
a  strange,  rare  creature!  I've  flirted  with  lots  of  poor  art- 
ists, but  never  with  a  rich  one.  Bring  him  to  me,  and  intro- 
duce him  at  once." 

"He  is  not  one  that  you  can  flirt  with,  like  the  attenuated 
youth  who  has  just  meandered  to  the  bar-room." 

"Why  not?" 

"If  you  had  eyes  for  anything  save  your  own  pretty  face, 
and  the  public  stare,  you  would  have  seen  that  my  friend  is 
not  a  'creature,'  but  a  man." 

"Come,  Cousin  Ik,"  she  replied  in  more  natural  tones, 
"too  much  of  your  house  is  made  of  glass  for  you  to  throw 
stones.  Flirting  and  frolicking  are  as  good  any  day  as  eat- 
ing, smoking,  and  dawdling." 

Stanton  bit  his  lip,  but  retorted,  "I  don't  profess  to  be 
a  bit  better  than  you  are,  Coz;  but  I  at  least  have  the  sense 
to  appreciate  those  who  are  my  superiors." 

"So  have  I,  when  I  find  them;  I  am  beginning  to  think, 
however,  that  you  men  are  very  much  alike.  All  you  ask 
is  a  pretty  face,  for  you  all  think  that  you  have  brains  enough 
for  two.  But  bring  your  paragon  and  introduce  him,  that 
I  may  share  in  your  gaping  admiration." 

"You  would,  indeed,  my  dear  Coz,  yawn  over  his  con- 


IDA    MAYHEW  27 

versation,  for  you  couldn't  understand  half  of  it.  I  think 
we  had  better  remain  where  we  are  till  your  shadow  returns 
with  his  eyes  and  nose  slightly  inflamed.  He  is  aware  of  at 
least  one  method  of  becoming  a  spirited  youth,  it  seems." 

"A  man  who  is  worth  half  a  million  is  usually  regarded 
as  rather  substantial,"  she  retorted. 

"Yes,  but  in  this  case  the  money-bags  outweigh  the  man 
too  ridiculously.  For  heaven's  sake,  Coz,  do  not  make  a 
spectacle  of  yourself  by  marrying  this  attenuation,  or  society 
will  assert  there  was  a  regularly  drawn  bill  of  sale." 

' '  I  assure  you  that  I  do  not  intend  to  put  myself  under 
any  man's  thumb  for  a  long  time  to  come.  I  am  having 
too  good  a  time;  and  that  reminds  me  that  I  would  enjoy 
meeting  your  friend  much  more  than  listening  to  your  cyni- 
cal speeches.  Did  I  not  know  that  you  were  like  my  little 
King  Charles — all  bark  rather  than  bite — I  wouldn't  stand 
them;  and  I  won't  any  longer  to-night.  So  go  and  bring 
your  great  embryo  artist,  or  he  will  become  one  of  the  old 
masters  before  I  see  him." 

"I  fear  I  must  give  you  a  wee  bit  of  a  bite  this  time.  I 
have  offered  to  introduce  him  and  he  declines  the  honor." 

"How  is  that?"  she  asked,  flushing  with  auger. 

"I  will  quote  his  words  exactly,  and  then  you  can  inter- 
pret them  as  you  think  best  He  said,  'I  could  not  speak 
civilly  to  a  lady  that  I  had  just  seen  giggling  and  flirting 
through  one  of  Beethoven's  finest  symphonies.' 

The  young  girl's  face  looked  anything  but  amiable  in 
response  to  this  speech;  but,  after  a  moment,  she  tossed 
her  head,  and  replied: 

"NHmporte — there  are  plenty  who  can  use  not  only  civil 
words  but  complimentary  ones." 

"Yes,  and  the  mischief  of  it  is  that  you  will  listen  to 
them  and  to  no  others.  W  hat  sort  of  muscle  can  one  make 
who  lives  only  on  sugar-plums?" 

"They  agree  with  me  better  than  the  vinegar  drops  you 
and  your  unmannerly  friend  delight  in.  I  don't  believe  he 
ever  painted  anything  better  than  a  wooden  squaw  for  one 


28  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

of   your  beloved  cigar-shops — welcome  back,   Mr.   Minty. 
You  have  been  away  an  unconscionably  long  time." 

4 'Thanks  for  the  compliment  of  being  missed.  I  have 
tried  to  make  amends  by  ordering  a  petit  souper  for  three, 
for  I  was  sure  your  cousin  would  join  us.  It  will  be  brought 
to  one  of  yonder  stalls,  where,  while  we  enjoy  it,  we  can  both 
see  and  hear. ' ' 

Surmising  that  the  viands  would  consist  of  the  choicest 
delicacies  of  the  season,  Stanton  readily  accepted  the  invita- 
tion, and  it  so  happened  that  the  cloth  was  laid  for  the  party 
in  the  stall  next  to  that  in  which  Van  Berg  was  quietly  en- 
joying a  cigar  and  a  frugal  glass  of  lager.  They  took  their 
places  quite  unaware  of  his  proximity,  and  he  listened  with 
considerable  interest  to  the  tones  and  words  of  the  fair 
stranger  who  had  so  unexpectedly  taken  possession  of  his 
thoughts.  Were  it  not  for  a  slight  shrillness  and  loudness 
at  times,  and  the  fashionable  affectation  of  the  day,  her 
voice  would  have  been  sweet  and  girlish  enough.  As  it 
was,  it  suggested  an  instrument  tuned  to  a  false  key  and 
consequently  discordant  with  all  true  and  womanly  har- 
monies. Her  conversation  with  young  Minty  was  as  in- 
sipid as  himself,  but  occasionally  Stanton's  cynical  bantei 
evoked  something  like  repartee  and  wit. 

In  the  course  of  her  talk  she  said:  "By  the  way,  Ik, 
mother  and  I  start  for  the  country  next  week.  We  are  to 
spend  the  summer  at  the  Lake  House,  which  is  up  the  Hud- 
son somewhere — you  know  where  better  than  I.  If  you  will 
bring  your  bays  and  a  light  wagon  I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
see  you  there;  otherwise  I  shall  welcome  you — well — as  my 
cousin." 

"If  I  come  I  will  surely  bring  my  bays,  and  possibly 
may  invite  you  to  drive  with  me. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  will  save  you  all  trouble  in  that  respect  by  invit- 
ing myself,  when  so  inclined." 

The  orchestra  was  now  about  to  give  a  selection  that  Van 
Berg  wished  to  hear  to  better  advantage  than  he  could  in  his 
present  position;  therefore,  unobserved  by  the  party  on  the 


IDA    MAY  HEW  29 

other  side  of  the  thin  partition,  he  returned  to  his  old  seat 
in  the  main  hallway.  Not  very  long  after,  Stanton,  with 
his  cousin  and  Mr.  Minty,  entered  from  the  promenade,  and 
again  Van  Berg  received  the  same  vivid  impression  of  beauty, 
and,  with  many  others,  could  not  withdraw  his  eyes  from  the 
exquisite  features  that  were  slightly  flushed  with  champagne 
and  excitement.  But,  as  before,  this  impression  passed 
quickly,  and  the  face  again  became  as  exasperating  to  the 
artist  as  the  visage  of  the  Venus  of  Milo  would  be  should 
some  vandal  hand  pencil  upon  it  a  leer  or  a  smirk.  A 
heavy  frown  was  gathering  upon  his  brow  when  the  young 
lady,  happening  to  turn  suddenly,  caught  and  fully  recog- 
nized his  lowering  expression.  It  accorded  only  too  well 
with  her  cousin's  words  in  regard  to  Van  Berg's  estimate  of 
herself,  and  greatly  increased  her  resentment  toward  the  one 
who  had  already  wounded  her  vanity — the  most  vulnerable 
and  sensitive  trait  in  her  character.  The  flush  that  deep- 
ened so  suddenly  upon  her  face  was  unmistakably  that  of 
anger.  She  promptly  turned  her  back  upon  her  critic,  nor 
did  she  look  toward  him  again  until  the  close  of  the  even- 
ing. That  his  words  and  manner  rankled  in  her  memory, 
however,  was  proved  by  a  slightly  preoccupied  manner,  fol- 
lowed by  fits  of  gayety  not  altogether  natural,  and  chiefly 
by  the  fact  that  she  could  not  leave  the  place  without  a 
swift  glance  at  the  disturbing  cause  of  her  wonted  self-ap- 
proval. But  Van  Berg  took  pains  to  manifest  his  indiffer- 
ence by  standing  with  his  back  toward  her  when  she  knew 
that  he  must  be  aware  of  her  departure,  from  her  slightly 
ostentatious  leave-taking  of  her  cousin,  in  which,  of  course, 
the  spoiled  beauty  had  no  other  object  than  to  attract  atten- 
tion to  herself. 

As  Van  Berg,  with  his  friend,  was  passing  out  a  few  mo- 
ments later,  he  asked  rather  abruptly,  showing  that  he  also 
was  not  so  indifferent  as  he  had  pretended  to  be: 

"What  is  your  cousin's  name,  Stanton?" 

"Her  name  is  as  pretty  as  herself — Ida  May  hew,  and  it 
is  worse  than  a  disquieting  ghost  in  a  good  many  heads  and 


SO  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

hearts  that  I  know  of.  Indeed  its  owner  has  robbed  men 
that  I  thought  sensible,  not  only  of  their  peace,  but,  I 
should  say,  of  their  wits  also.  I  had  one  friend  of  whom 
I  thought  a  great  deal,  and  it  was  pitiable  to  see  the  abject 
state  to  which  the  heartless  little  minx  reduced  him.  I  am 
glad  to  find  that  her  witchery  has  no  spell  for  you,  and  that 
you  detect  just  what  she  is  through  her  disguise  of  beauty. 
Entre  nous,  Van,  I  will  tell  you  a  secret.  I  was  once  over 
ears  in  love  with  her  myself,  but  my  cousinly  relationship 
enabled  me  to  see  her  so  often  and  intimately  that  she  cured 
me  of  my  folly  on  homoeopathic  principles.  Similia  similibus 
curantur.  Even  the  blindness  of  love  could  not  fail  to  dis- 
cover that  when  one  subtracted  vanity,  coquetry,  and  her 
striking  external  beauty  from  Ida  Mayhew,  but  little  was 
left,  and  that  little  not  a  heavenly  compound.  Those  who 
know  her  least,  and  who  add  to  her  beauty  many  ideal  per- 
fections, are  the  ones  that  rave  about  her  most.  I  doubt 
whether  she  ever  had  a  heart;  if  so,  it  was  frittered  away 
long  ago  in  her  numberless  flirtations.  But  with  all  her 
folly  she  has  ever  had  the  sense  to  keep  within  the  conven- 
tionalities of  her  own  fashionable  coterie,  which  is  the  only 
world  she  knows  anything  about,  and  whose  unwritten  laws 
are  her  only  creed  and  religion.  Her  disappointed  suitors 
can  justly  charge  her  with  cruelty,  silliness,  ignorance,  and 
immeasurable  vanity,  but  never  with  indiscretion.  She  has 
to  perfection  the  American  girl's  ability  to  take  care  of  her- 
self, and  no  man  will  seek  twice  to  take  a  liberty  beyond 
that  which  etiquette  permits.  I  have  now  given  you  in 
brief  the  true  character  of  Ida  Mayhew.  It  is  no  secret, 
for  all  who  come  to  know  her  well  arrive  at  the  same  opin- 
ion. When  I  saw  you  had  observed  her  this  evening  for 
the  first  time,  I  was  quite  interested  in  watching  the  im- 
pression she  would  make  upon  you,  and  I  am  very  glad 
that  your  judgment  has  been  both  good  and  prompt;  for  I 
slightly  feared  that  your  love  of  beauty  might  make  you 
blind  to  everything  else." 

Stanton's  concluding  words  were  as  incense  to  Van  Berg, 


IDA    MAY  HEW  81 

for  he  prided  himself  in  no  slight  degree  on  his  even  pulse 
and  sensible  heart,  that,  thus  far,  had  given  him  so  little 
trouble;  and  he  therefore  replied,  with  a  certain  tinge  of 
complacency  and  consciousness  of  security: 

"You  know  me  well  enough,  Ik,  to  be  aware  that  I  am 
becoming  almost  a  monomaniac  in  my  art.  A  woman's  face 
is  to  me  little  more  than  a  picture  which  I  analyze  from  an 
artistic  standpoint.  A  merely  'pretty  face  is  like  a  line  of 
verse  of  musical  rhythm,  but  without  sense  or  meaning. 
This  is  bad  and  provoking  enough;  but  when  the  most  ex- 
quisite features  give  expression  only  to  some  of  the  meanest 
and  unworthiest  qualities  that  can  infest  a  woman's  soul,  one 
is  exasperated  almost  beyond  endurance.  At  least  I  am,  for 
1  am  offended  in  my  strongest  instincts.  Think  of  employ- 
ing stately  Homeric  words  and  measure  in  describing  a  belle's 
toilet  table  with  its  rouge-pots,  false  hair,  and  other  abomi- 
nations! Much  worse  is  it,  in  my  estimation,  that  the  fea- 
tures of  a  goddess  should  tell  us  only  of  such  moral  vermin 
as  vanity,  silliness,  and  the  egotism  of  a  poor  little  self  that 
thinks  of  nothing,  and  knows  nothing  save  its  own  small 
cravings.  Pardon  me,  Ik;  I  am  not  speaking  of  your 
cousin  but  in  the  abstract.  In  regard  to  that  young  lady, 
as  you  saw,  I  was  very  much  struck  with  the  face.  Indeed, 
to  tell  the  honest  truth,  I  never  saw  so  much  beauty  spoiled 
before,  and  the  fact  has  put  me  in  so  bad  a  humor  that  you, 
no  doubt,  are  glad  I  have  reached  my  corner  and  so  must 
say  good-night." 

"Ida  Mayhew  can  realize  all  such  abstractions,"  mut- 
tered Ik  Stanton,  as  he  walked  on  alone. 

The  reader  will  be  apt  to  surmise,  however,  that  some 
resentment,  resulting  from  his  former  and  unrequited  senti- 
ment toward  the  girl,  gave  an  unjust  bias  to  his  judgment 


32  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  III 

AN  ARTIST'S   FREAK 

VAN  BEBGr'S  night-key  admitted  him  to  a  beautiful 
home,  which  he  now  had  wholly  to  himself,  since 
his  parents  and  sister  had  sailed  for  Europe  early  in 
the  spring,  intending  to  spend  the  summer  abroad.  The 
young  man  had  already  travelled  and  studied  for  years  in 
the  lands  naturally  attractive  to  an  artist,  and  it  was  now 
his  purpose  to  familiarize  himself  more  thoroughly  with  the 
scenery  of  his  own  country. 

On  reaching  his  own  apartment  he  took  down  a  prosy 
book,  that  he  might  read  himself  into  that  condition  of 
drowsiness  which  would  render  sleep  possible;  but  sleep 
would  not  come,  and  the  sentences  were  like  the  passers-by 
in  the  street,  whom  we  see  but  do  not  note,  and  for  whose 
coming  and  going  we  know  not  the  reasons.  Between  him- 
self and  the  page  he  saw  continually  the  exquisite  features 
and  the  exasperating  face  of  Ida  May  hew.  At  last  he  threw 
aside  the  book,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  gave  himself  up  to  the 
reveries  to  which  this  beautiful,  but  discordant  visage  so 
strongly  predisposed  him.  Its  perfection  in  one  respect,  its 
strongly  marked  imperfection  in  another,  both  appealed 
equally  to  his  artistic  and  thoughtful  mind.  At  one  mo- 
ment it  would  appear  before  him  with  an  ideal  loveliness 
such  as  had  never  blessed  the  eye  of  his  fancy  even;  but 
while  he  yet  looked  the  features  would  distort  themselves 
into  the  vivid  expression  of  some  contemptible  trait,  so  like 
what  he  had  seen  in  reality,  during  the  evening,  that,  in  un- 
controllable irritation,  he  would  start  up  and  pace  the  floor. 


AN   ARTIST'S    FREAK  33 

His  uncurbed  imagination  conjured  up  all  kinds  of  weird 
and  grotesque  imagery.  He  found  himself  commiserating 
the  girl's  features  as  if  they  were  high-toned  captives  held 
in  degrading  bondage  by  a  spiteful  little  monster,  that  de- 
lighted to  put  them  to  low  and  menial  uses.  To  one  of  his 
temperament  such  beauty  as  he  had  just  witnessed,  con- 
trolled by,  and  ministering  to,  some  of  the  meanest  and 
pettiest  of  human  vices,  was  like  Mary  Magdalene  when 
held  in  thraldom  by  seven  devils. 

A  cool  and  matter-of-fact  person  could  scarcely  under* 
stand  Van  Berg's  annoyance  and  perturbation.  If  a  true 
artist  were  compelled  to  see  before  him  a  portrait  that  re- 
quired only  a  few  skilful  touches  in  order  to  become  a  per- 
fect likeness,  and  yet  could  not  give  those  touches,  the  pic- 
ture would  become  a  constant  vexation;  and  the  better  the 
picture,  the  nearer  it  approached  the  truth,  the  deeper  would 
be  the  irritation  that  all  should  be  spoiled  through  defects 
for  which  there  was  no  necessity. 

In  the  face  that  persistently  haunted  him  Van  Berg  saw 
a  beauty  that  might  fulfil  his  best  ideal;  and  he  also  saw 
just  why  it  did  not  and  never  could,  until  its  defects  were 
remedied.  He  felt  a  sense  of  personal  loss  that  he  should 
have  discovered  a  gem  so  nearly  perfect  and  yet  marred  by 
so  fatal  a  flaw. 

The  next  day  it  was  still  the  same.  The  face  of  Ida 
Mayhew  interposed  itself  before  everything  that  he  sought 
to  do  or  see.  Whether  it  were  true  or  not,  it  appeared  to 
him  that  in  all  his  wanderings  and  observations  he  had 
never  seen  features  so  capable  of  fulfilling  his  highest  con- 
ception of  beauty  did  they  but  express  the  higher  qualities 
and  emotions  of  the  soul.  He  also  felt  that  never  before 
had  he  seen  a  face  that  would  seem  to  him  so  hideous  in  its 
perversion. 

He  threw  down  his  brush  and  palette  in  despair  and 
again  gave  himself  up  to  his  fancies.  He  then  sketched  m 
outline  the  beautiful  face  as  expressing  joy,  hope,  courage, 
thought  or  love,  but  was  provoked  to  find  that  he  ever  ob- 


34  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

tained  the  best  likeness  when  portraying  the  vanity,  silli- 
ness, or  petulance  which  had  been  the  only  characteristics 
he  had  seen. 

He  now  grew  metaphysical  and  tried  to  analyze  the  girl's 
mind.  He  sought  to  grope  mentally  his  way  back  into  the 
recesses  of  the  soul,  which  had  looked,  acted,  and  spoken 
the  previous  evening.  A  strange  little  place  he  imagined 
it,  and  oddly  furnished.  It  occurred  to  him  that  it  bore  a 
resemblance  to  her  dressing-room,  and  was  full  of  queer 
feminine  mysteries  and  artificial  ideas  that  had  been  created 
by  conventional  society  rather  than  inspired  by  nature. 

He  asked  himself,  "Can  it  be  that  here  is  a  character  in 
which  the  elements  of  a  true  and  good  woman  do  not  exist? 
Has  she  no  heart,  no  mind,  no  conscience  worthy  of  the 
name?  At  her  age  she  cannot  have  lost  these  qualities. 
Have  they  never  been  awakened  ?  Do  they  exist  to  that 
degree  that  they  can  be  aroused  into  controlling  activity  ? 
I  suppose  there  can  be  pretty  idiots.  As  people  are  born 
blind  or  scrofulous,  so  I  suppose  others  can  be  born  devoid 
of  heart  or  conscience,  inheriting  from  a  degenerate  ancestry 
sundry  mean  and  vile  propensities  in  their  places.  Human 
nature  is  a  scale  that  runs  both  up  and  down,  and  it  is  aston- 
ishing how  far  the  extremes  can  be  apart. 

"How  high  is  it  possible  for  the  same  individual  to  rise 
in  this  scale  ?  I  imagine  we  are  all  prone  to  judge  of  peo- 
ple as  if  they  were  finished  pictures,  and  to  think  that  the 
defects  our  first  scrutiny  discovers  will  remain  for  all  time. 
It  is  in  real  life  much  as  in  fiction.  From  first  to  last  a  vil- 
lain is  a  villain,  as  if  he  had  been  created  one.  The  heroine 
is  a  moss  rose-bud  by  equal  and  unchanging  necessity.  Is 
this  girl  a  fool,  and  will  she  remain  one  by  any  innate  com- 
pulsion? By  Jove!  I  would  like  to  see  her  again  in  the 
searching  light  of  day.  I  would  like  to  follow  her  career  suf- 
ficiently long,  to  discover  whether  nature  has  been  guilty  of 
the  grotesque  crime  of  associating  inseparably  with  that  fine 
form  and  those  exquisite  features,  a  hideous  little  mind  that 
must  go  on  intensifying  its  dwarfed  deformity,  until  death 


AN   ARTISTS    FREAK  35 

snuffs  it  out.  If  this  be  true,  the  beautiful  little  monster 
that  is  bothering  me  so  suggests  a  knotty  problem  to  wiser 
heads  than  mine." 

Somewhat  later  his  musings  led  him  to  indulge  in  a 
broad  laugh. 

"Possibly,"  he  said  aloud,  "she  is  a  modern  and  fashion- 
able Undine,  and  has  never  yet  received  a  woman's  soul. 
The  good  Lord  deliver  me  from  trying  to  awaken  it,  as  did 
the  knight  of  old  in  the  story,  by  swelling  the  long  list  of 
her  victims.  I  can  scarcely  imagine  a  more  pitiable  and 
abject  creature  than  a  man  (once  sane  and  sensible)  in  thral- 
dom to  such  a  tantalizing  semblance  of  a  woman.  She  would 
no  more  appreciate  his  devotion  than  the  jackdaw  the  pearl 
necklace  it  pecked  at. 

"I  fear  my  Undine  theory  won't  answer.  Stanton  says 
she  has  no  heart,  and  her  face  and  manner  confirm  his 
words.  But  now  I  think  of  it,  the  original  Undine  lived 
a  long  time  ago— in  the  age  of  primeval  simplicity,  when 
even  cool- blooded  water  nymphs  had  hearts.  One  is  in- 
duced to  think,  in  our  age,  that  this  organ  will  eventually 
disappear  with  the  other  characteristics  of  ancient  and  un- 
developed man,  and  that  the  brain,  or  what  stands  for  it, 
will  become  all  in  all.  In  the  first  instance  the  woman's 
soul  came  in  through  the  heart;  but  I  suppose  that  in  the 
case  of  a  modern  Undine  it  could  enter  most  readily  through 
the  head.  I  wonder  if  there  is  something  like  an  unawak- 
ened  mind,  sleeping  under  that  broad  low  brow  that  mocks 
one  with  its  fair  intellectual  outline.  I  wonder  if  it  would 
be  possible  to  set  her  thinking,  and  so  eventually  render 
her  capable  of  receiving  a  woman's  soul.  As  it  is  now  she 
seems  to  possess  only  certain  disagreeable  feminine  propen- 
sities. One  might  engage  in  such  an  experiment  as  a  phi- 
losopher rather  than  a  lover;  or,  what  is  more  to  my 
purpose,  as  an  artist. 

"By  Jove  I  I  would  half  like  to  make  the  attempt;  it 
would  give  zest  to  one's  summer  vacation.  Well,  what  is 
to  hinder?     Now  I  think  of  it  she  remarked  that  she  was 


36  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

\o  spend  the  season  at  the  Lake  House,  not  far  from  the 
Hudson,  a  place  well  suited  to  my  purposes.  There  are 
the  wild  highlands  on  one  side,  and  a  soft  pastoral  country 
on  the  other.  I  could  there  find  abundant  opportunity  for 
varied  studies  in  scenery,  and  at  the  same  time  beguile  my 
idle  hours  at  the  hotel  with  this  face  of  marvellous  capabili- 
ties and  possibilities.  The  features  already  exist,  and  would 
be  beautiful  if  the  girl  were  dead,  and  they  could  be  no 
longer  distorted  by  the  small  vices  of  the  spirit  back  of 
them.  They  might  become  transcendently  beautiful,  could 
she  in  very  truth  receive  the  soul  of  a  true  and  thoughtful 
woman — a  soul  such  as  makes  my  mother  beautiful  in  her 
plain  old  age. 

"I'm  inclined  to  follow  this  odd  fancy.  That  girl  is  a 
vara  avis  such  as  has  never  flown  across  my  path  before. 
I  shall  have  a  quarrel  with  nature  all  my  life  if  I  must  be- 
lieve she  can  fashion  a  face  capable  of  meaning  so  much  and 
yet  actually  meaning  so  little,  and  that  little  disgusting." 

After  a  few  moments  of  deep  thought,  he  again  started 
to  his  feet  and  commenced  pacing  his  studio. 

"Suppose,"  he  soliloquized,  "I  attempt  a  novel  bit  of 
artistic  work  as  my  summer  recreation.  Suppose  I  take  the 
face  of  this  stranger  instead  of  a  piece  of  canvas  and  try  to 
illumine  it  with  thought,  with  womanly  character  and  intel- 
ligence. If  I  fail,  as  I  probably  shall,  no  harm  will  be  done. 
If  her  silliness  and  vanity  are  ingrained  and  essential  parts 
of  her  nature,  she  shall  learn  that  there  is  at  least  one  man 
who  can  see  her  as  she  is,  and  whose  heart  is  not  wax  on 
which  to  stamp  her  pretty  and  senseless  image.  If  I  only 
partially  succeed,  if  I  discern  she  has  a  mind,  but  so  feeble 
that  it  can  only  half  reclaim  her  from  her  weakness  and  folly, 
still  something  will  be  accomplished.  Her  features  are  so 
beautiful,  that  should  they  come  to  express  even  the  glim- 
merings of  that  which  is  admirable,  the  face  will  be  in  part 
redeemed.  But  if  by  some  happy  miracle,  as  in  the  instance 
of  the  original  Undine,  a  mind  can  be  awakened  that  will 
gradually  prepare  a  place  for  the  soul  of  a  true  woman,  I 


AN   ARTISTS    FREAK  37 

shall  accomplish  the  best  work  of  my  life,  even  estimated 
from  an  artistic  point  of  view.  Possibly,  for  my  reward, 
she  will  permit  me  to  paint  her  portrait  as  a  souvenir  of  our 
summer's  acquaintance." 

It  did  not  take  Van  Berg  long  to  complete  his  arrange- 
ments for  leaving  town.  He  wrote  a  line  to  his  friend  Stan- 
ton, saying  that  he  proposed  spending  a  few  weeks  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  Highlands  on  the  Hudson,  and  that  he  could 
not  say  when  he  would  be  at  his  rooms  or  at  home  again. 
The  afternoon  of  the  following  day  found  him  a  passenger 
on  a  fleet  steamboat,  and  fully  bent  upon  carrying  out  his 
odd  artistic  freak. 


38  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER   IV 

A   PARTHIAN   ARROW 

AS,  in  the  quiet  June  evening,  Harold  Van  Berg  glided 
through  the  shadows  of  the  Highlands,  there  came 
a  slight  change  over  his  spirit  of  philosophical  and 
artistic  experiment.  The  season  comported  with  his  early 
manhood,  and  the  witching  hour  and  the  scenery  were  not 
conducive  to  cold  philosophy.  He  who  prided  himself  on 
his  steady  pulse  and  a  devotion  to  art  so  absorbing  that  it 
even  prompted  his  impulses  and  gave  character  to  his  recre- 
ation, was  led  to  feel,  on  this  occasion,  that  his  mistress  was 
vague  and  shadowy,  and  to  half  wish  for  that  companion- 
ship which  the  most  self-reliant  natures  have  craved  at 
times,  ever  since  man  first  felt,  and  God  knew,  that  it  was 
"not  good  for  him  to  be  alone."  If  he  could  turn  from  the 
beauty  of  the  sun-tipped  hills  and  rocks  and  the  gloaming 
shadows  to  an  appreciative  and  sympathetic  face,  such  as  he 
could  at  least  imagine  the  visage  of  Ida  Mayhew  might 
become,  would  not  his  enjoyment  of  the  beauty  he  saw  be 
doubly  enhanced?  In  his  deepest  consciousness  he  was 
compelled  to  admit  that  it  would.  He  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  truth  that  he  would  never  attain  to  his  highest  man- 
hood until  he  had  allied  himself  to  a  womanhood  which  he 
should  come  to  believe  supremely  true  and  beautiful. 

The  ringing  of  the  bell  announced  his  landing,  and  in  the 
hurry  and  bustle  of  looking  after  his  luggage  and  obtaining 
a  ticket  which  he  had  forgotten  to  procure,  he  speedily  be- 
came again,  in  the  world's  estimation,  and  perhaps  in  his  own, 
a  practical,  sensible  man.     An  hour  or  two's  ride  among  the 


A    PARTHIAN    ARROW  39 

hills  brought  him  at  last  to  the  Lake  House,  where  he  se- 
lected a  room  that  had  a  fine  prospect  of  the  mountains,  the 
far  distant  river,  and  the  adjacent  open  country,  engaging 
it  only  for  a  brief  time  so  that  he  might  depart  when  he 
chose,  in  case  the  object  of  his  pursuit  should  not  appear, 
or  he  should  weary  of  the  effort,  or  despair  of  its  success. 

A  few  days  passed,  but  the  face  which  had  so  haunted 
his  fancy  presented  no  actual  appearance.  The  scenery, 
however,  was  so  beautiful,  the  weather  so  perfect,  and  he 
enjoyed  his  rambles  among  the  hills  and  his  excursions 
on  the  water  so  thoroughly  that  he  was  already  growing 
slightly  forgetful  of  his  purpose  and  satisfied  that  he  could 
enjoy  himself  a  few  weeks  without  the  zest  of  artistically 
redeeming  the  face  of  Ida  Mayhew.  But  one  day,  while 
at  dinner,  he  overheard  some  gossip  concerning  a  "great 
belle"  who  was  to  come  that  evening,  and  he  at  once  sur- 
mised that  it  was  the  fair  stranger  he  had  seen  at  the  con- 
cert. 

At  the  time,  therefore,  of  the  arrival  of  the  evening  stage 
he  observantly  puffed  his  cigar  in  a  corner  of  the  piazza,  and 
was  soon  rewarded  by  seeing  the  object  of  his  contemplated 
experiment  step  out  of  the  vehicle,  with  the  airy  grace  and 
confidence  of  one  who  regards  each  new  abiding-place  as  a 
scene  of  coming  pleasures  and  conquests,  and  who  feels  sure 
that  every  glance  toward  her  is  one  of  admiration.  There 
were  eyes,  however,  that  noted  disapprovingly  her  jaunty 
self-assurance  and  self-assertion,  and  when  she  met  those 
eyes  her  complacenc}'  seemed  disturbed  at  once,  for  she 
flushed  and  promptly  turned  her  back  upon  them.  In  fact, 
from  the  time  she  had  first  seen  Van  Berg's  frowning  face 
it  had  been  a  disagreeable  memory,  and  now  here  it  was 
again  and  frowning  still.  Although  he  sat  at  a  distance 
from  the  landing-place,  her  eyes  seemed  drawn  toward  his 
as  if  by  some  fascination,  and  she  already  had  the  feeling 
that  whenever  he  was  present  she  would  be  conscious  of  his 
cool,  critical  observation. 

Van  Berg  had  scarcely  time  to  note  a  rather  stout  and 


40  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 

overdressed  person  emerge  from  the  stage,  who  was  evi- 
dently the  young  lady's  mother,  when  Ik  Stanton,  with  his 
bays  and  a  light  country  wagon,  dashed  up  to  the  main  en- 
trance. Stanton  was  an  element  in  the  artistic  problem  that 
Van  Berg  had  not  bargained  for,  and  what  influence  he 
would  have,  friendly  or  adverse,  only  time  could  show. 

While  Stanton  was  accompanying  his  aunt  and  cousin 
to  the  register,  as  the  gentleman  of  the  party,  the  young  lady 
said  to  him: 

41  That  horrid  artist  friend  of  yours  is  here.  I  wish  he 
hadn't  come.     Did  you  tell  him  we  were  coming  here  ?" 

"No,  'pon  my  honor." 

"I  half  believe  you  did.  If  so,  I'll  never  forgive  you, 
for  the  very  sight  of  him  spoils  everything." 

"Come  now,  Coz,  be  reasonable.  From  all  the  indica- 
tions I  have  seen,  Van  Berg  is  the  last  man  to  follow  you 
here  or  anywhere  else,  even  though  he  knew  of  your  pro- 
spective movements.  He  is  here,  as  scores  of  others  are, 
for  his  own  pleasure.  So  follow  your  mother  to  your  room, 
smooth  your  ruffled  plumage  and  come  down  to  supper." 

Even  Miss  Mayhew's  egotism  could  find  no  fault  with  so 
reasonable  an  explanation,  and  she  went  pouting  up  the 
stairway  in  anything  but  a  complacent  mood. 

Stanton  stepped  out  upon  the  piazza  to  greet  his  friend, 
saying: 

"Why,  Van,  it  is  an  unexpected  pleasure  to  find  you 
here." 

"I  was  equally  and  quite  as  agreeably  surprised  to  see 
you  drive  to  the  door.  If  your  cousin  had  not  come  I  might 
have  helped  you  exercise  your  bays.  I  am  doing  some 
sketching  in  the  vicinity." 

"My  cousin  shall  not  keep  you  from  many  an  idle  hour 
behind  the  bays  —that  is,  if  you  will  not  carry  your  antipa- 
thy so  far  as  to  cut  me  on  account  of  my  relationship." 

"I'm  not  conscious  of  any  antipathy  for  Miss  Mayhew," 
replied  Van  Berg,  with  a  slight  shrug. 

"Oh,  only  indifference!    Well,  if  you  will  both  maintain 


A    PARTHIAN   aRROW  41 

that  attitude  there  will  be  no  trouble  about  the  bays  or  any- 
thing else.     I'll  smoke  with  you  after  supper." 

"She  evidently  has  an  antipathy  for  me,*'  mused  Van 
Berg.  "Stanton,  no  doubt,  has  told  her  of  my  uncompli- 
mentary remarks,  and  possibly  of  the  fact  that  I  declined 
an  introduction.  That's  awkward,  for  if  I  should  now  ask 
jo  be  presented  to  her,  she  would  very  naturally  decline, 
and  so  we  might  drift  into  something  as  closely  resembling 
a  quarrel  as  is  possible  in  the  case  of  two  people  who  have 
never  spoken  to  each  other." 

He  concluded  that  it  would  be  best  to  leave  to  chance 
the  occasion  which  should  place  them  on  speaking  terms, 
and  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  her  unpromising  attitude 
toward  him  was  not  wholly  unfavorable  to  his  purpose.  He 
never  could  hope  to  accomplish  anything  without  at  first 
piquing  her  pride  and  wounding  her  vanity.  His  only  fear 
was  that  this  had  been  done  too  effectually,  and  that  from 
first  to  last  she  would  simply  detest  him. 

In  his  preoccupation  he  forgot  that  the  supper  hour  was 
passing,  but  at  last  started  hastily  for  his  room.  As  he 
rapidly  turned  a  sharp  corner  he  nearly  ran  into  two  ladies 
who  were  coming  from  an  opposite  direction,  and  looking 
up  saw  Mrs.  Mayhew  and  the  flushed,  resentful  face  of  her 
daughter.  In  spite  of  himself  our  even-pulsed  philosopher 
flushed  also,  but  instantly  removing  his  hat  he  ejaculated: 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  and  passed  on. 

As  Ida  joined  her  cousin  at  the  supper  table  she  whis- 
pered exultantly: 

"He  has  spoken  to  me." 

"Who  has  spoken  to  you?" 

"Your  artist-bear." 

"How  did  that  happen?" 

"Well,  he  nearly  ran  over  me — horrid  thing!  I  suppose 
that's  another  of  his  peculiar  ways." 

"Did  he  embrace  you?" 

"Embrace  me!  Good  heavens,  what  an  escape  I  have 
had!     So  this  too  is  a  characteristic  of  your  friend  ?" 


42  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"You  said  lie  was  a  bear.  If  so,  he  should  have  given 
you  a  hug  on  the  first  opportunity. " 

4 'He  didn't  have  an  opportunity,  and  he  never  will." 

"Poor  fellow!  It  will  make  him  sick  if  I  tell  him  so. 
Well,  since  it  is  another  case  of  beauty  and  the  beast,  what 
did  the  beast  say?" 

41  He  said  what  it  was  very  proper  he  should  say  to  me 
after  all  his  hatefulness.     He  said,  'I  beg  your  pardon.'  " 

"And  then  I  suppose  you  kissed  and  made  up." 

"Hush,  you  horrid  thing.  I  noticed  him  no  more  than 
I  would  a  chair  that  I  might  have  stumbled  over." 

"This  displaying  that  sweet  trait  of  yours— Charity. 
But  I  thought  it  was  he  that  stumbled  over  you?" 

"A  musty,  miserable  pun  I  It  was  he,  and  I'm  delighted 
it  so  happened,  that  the  "first  time  he  ever  spoke  to  me  he 
had  to  ask  my  pardon." 

"Well,  well!  I'm  glad  it  so  happened,  too,  and  that  the 
ice  is  broken  between  you,  for  Van  Berg  is  a  good  friend 
of  mine,  and  it  would  be  confoundedly  disagreeable  to  have 
you  two  lowering  at  each  other  across  a  bloody  chasm  of 
dark,  revengeful  thoughts." 

"The  ice  isn't  broken  at  all.  He  has  begged  my  pardon 
as  he  ought  to  do  a  hundred  times;  but  I  haven't  granted 
it,  and  I  never  will.  What's  more,  I'll  never  speak  to  him 
in  all  my  life;  never,  never!" 

"Swear  it  by  the  'inconstant  moon'!" 
"Hush,   here  he  comes.     Ah,  pestef  his  table  is  right 
opposite  ours." 

"Who  is  that  tall  and  rather  distinguished-looking  gen- 
tleman that  just  entered?"  asked  Mrs.  May  hew,  suddenly 
emerging  from  a  preoccupation  with  her  supper  which  a 
good  appetite  had  induced. 

"He  is  distinguished,  or  will  be.  He's  a  particular  friend 
of  Ida's,  and  is  as  rich  as  Croesus." 

"Three  items  in  his  favor,"  said  Mrs.  May  hew  compla- 
cently; "but  Ida  has  so  many  friends,  or  beaux,  rather, 
that  I  can't  keep  track  of  them.     Her  friends  speedily  be* 


A    PARTHIAN    ARROW  43 

come  furnace-like  lovers,  or  else  escape  for  their  lives  into 
the  dim  and  remote  region  of  mere  bowing  acquaintance- 
ship. I  once  tried  to  keep  a  list  of  the  various  and  varie- 
gated gentlemen  with  red  whiskers  and  black  whiskers, 
with  whiskers  sandy,  brown  and  occasionally  almost  white, 
but  borrowing  a  golden  hue  from  their  purses,  that  appeared 
and  disappeared  so  rapidly,  as  to  almost  make  me  dizzy.  I 
was  about  as  bewildered  as  the  poor  Indian  who  sought  to 
take  the  census  of  London  by  notching  a  stick  for  every 
passer-by  he  met.  And  now  before  we  are  through  supper 
on  the  first  evening  of  our  arrival,  another  appears,  who  is 
evidently  an  eligible  parti  and  twice  as  good  as  the  minx 
deserves;  but  in  a  few  days  he,  too,  will  vanish  into  thin 
air,  and  another  and  different  style  of  man  will  take  his 
place.  Mark  my  words,  Ida,  you  will  be  through  the  woods 
before  long,  and  I  expect  you  will  take  up  with  the  crooked- 
est  of  crooked  sticks  on  the  further  side,"  and  the  voluble 
Mrs.  May  hew  resumed  her  supper  with  a  zest  which  this  dis- 
mal prospect  did  not  by  any  means  impair. 

"If  I  were  in  search  of  a  crabbed,  crooked  stick,  I  would 
not  have  to  look  further  than  yonder  table,"  said  the  young 
lady,  petulantly.  "  What  you  suppose  about  that  dabbler 
in  paint  is  about  as  far  from  the  truth  as  your  sketch  of 
those  who  are  my  friends.  That  man  never  was  my  friend, 
and  never  shall  be.  I  don't  want  you  to  get  acquainted  with 
him  or  speak  to  him.  You  must  not  introduce  him  to  me, 
for  if  you  do,  I  shall  be  rude  to  him." 

"Hoity-toity!  what's  the  matter?" 

"I  don't  like  him.  Only  Ik  thinks  he's  wonderful.  He 
has  probably  blinded  our  cousin  to  his  faults  by  painting 
a  flattering  likeness  of  the  vain  youth  here." 

"But  in  suggesting  another  portrait  that  was  not  alto- 
gether pleasing,  he  sinned  beyond  hope,"  whispered 
Stanton. 

Ida  bit  her  lip  and  frowned,  recalling  the  obnoxious 
artist's  portrait  of  herself  as  giggling  and  flirting  through 
one  of  Beethoven's  symphonies;  and  she  said,  spitefully: 


44  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"He  can  never  hope  for  anything  from  me." 

"Poor,  hopeless  wretch!"  groaned  Stanton.  "How  can 
he  sip  his  tea  yonder  so  complacently  oblivious  of  his 
doom?" 

"Mother,  I'm  in  earnest,"  resumed  the  daughter.  "I 
have  reasons  for  disliking  that  man,  and  I  do  not  wish  the 
annoyance  of  his  acquaintance." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Mayhew;  "as  long  as  the  wind 
blows  from  that  cool  quarter,  we  can  keep  cool  till  it 
changes.  If  1  mistake  not,  he  is  the  same  gentleman  who 
met  us  in  the  corridor.     I'm  sure  he  has  fine  manners." 

"If  it  is  fine  manners  in  a  man  to  nearly  run  over  two 
ladies,  he  is  perfect.  But  I  am  sick  of  hearing  about  him, 
and  especially  of  seeing  him.  I  insist,  Ik,  that  you  have 
our  table  changed  to  yonder  corner,  and  then  arrange  it  so 
that  I  can  sit  with  my  back  toward  him. ' ' 

"I  am  your  Caliban,  but  would  hint,  my  amiable  Coz, 
that  you  should  not  bite  off  your  own  pretty  nose  in  spite. 
Must  all  your  kin  join  in  this  bitter  feud  ?  May  I  not  smoke 
with  my  ancient  familiar?" 

"Oh,  be  off,  and  if  you  and  your  friend  disappear  like 
your  cigars,  the  world  will  survive." 

"I  fear  it  is  because  my  friend  will  never  dissolve  in  sighs 
that  you  are  so  willing  he  should  end  in  smoke." 

Having  winged  this  Parthian  arrow  over  his  shoulder, 
Stanton  strolled  out  on  the  piazza  whither  Van  Berg  had 
preceded  him. 


SPITE  46 


M 


CHAPTER  V 

SPITE 

ISS  MAYHEW  apparently  had  not  given  a  single 
glance  to  the  artist,  as  he  sat  opposite  to  her  and 
but  a  little  out  of  earshot.  Indeed,  so  well  did  she 
simulate  unconsciousness  of  his  presence,  that  were  it  not 
for  an  occasional  glance  from  Mrs.  Mayhew  he  might  have 
thought  himself  unnoticed;  but  something  in  that  lady's 
manner,  as  caught  by  occasional  glances,  led  him  to  suspect 
that  he  was  the  subject  of  their  conversation. 

Bat  Ida's  indifference  was,  in  truth,  only  seeming;  for 
although  she  never  looked  directly  at  him,  she  subjected 
his  image,  which  was  constantly  flitting  across  the  retina  of 
her  eye,  to  the  closer  scrutiny,  and  no  act  or  expression 
of  his  escaped  her.  She  was  piqued  by  the  fact  that  he 
showed  no  disturbed  consciousness  of  her  presence,  and 
that  his  glance  was  occasionally  as  free  and  natural  toward 
her  as  toward  any  other  guest  of  the  house.  His  bearing 
annoyed  her  excessively,  for  it  seemed  an  easy  and  quiet 
assertion  of  indifference  and  superiority — two  manifesta- 
tions that  were  to  her  as  objectionable  as  unusual.  Neither 
in  looks  nor  manner  did  she  appear  very  agreeable  during 
the  brief  time  she  spent  in  the  public  parlors.  The  guests 
of  the  house,  even  to  the  ladies  who  foresaw  an  eclipse  of 
their  own  charms,  were  compelled  to  admit  that  she  was 
very  pretty;  but  it  was  a  general  remark  that  her  face  did 
not  make  or  leave  a  pleasant  impression. 

Van  Berg  surmised  that  Stanton's  disposition  to  teaze 
and  baDter  would  lead  him  to  repeat  and,  perhaps,  distort, 


46  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 

anything  lie  might  say  concerning  the  young  lady,  so  he 
made  no  reference  whatever  to  the  Mayhews,  but  took  pains 
to  give  the  impression  that  he  was  deeply  interested  in  the 
scenery. 

"I  shall  probably  be  off  with  my  sketch-book  before  you 
are  up,"  he  said;  "for  if  I  remember  correctly,  you  are  up 
with  the  lark  only  when  you  have  been  up  overnight. ' ' 

"You  are  the  greater  sinner  of  the  two,"  yawned  Stan- 
ton; "for  if  I  occasionally  keep  unseasonable  hours  at 
night,  you  do  so  habitually  in  the  morning.  Either  you 
are  not  as  brilliant  as  usual  this  evening,  or  else  the  coun- 
try air  makes  me  drowsy.  Grood-  night.  We  will  take  a 
ride  to-morrow,  and  you  can  sketch  five  miles  of  fence  if 
you  find  that  you  cannot  resist  your  mania  for  work." 

Perhaps  Stanton  had  found  his  friend  slightly  preoccu- 
pied, for,  in  spite  of  the  constraint  he  had  put  upon  himself 
to  appear  as  usual,  this  second  and  closer  view  of  the  face 
which  had  taken  so  strong  a  hold  upon  his  fancy  did  not 
dissipate  his  first  impressions.  Indeed,  they  were  deepened 
rather,  for  he  saw  again  and  more  clearly  the  same  marvel- 
lous capabilities  in  the  features,  and  also  their  exasperating 
failure  to  make  a  beautiful  face. 

He  dreamed  over  his  project  some  little  time  after  his 
friend  had  retired,  and  the  conclusion  of  his  revery  was: 

"I  must  soon  make  some  progress  in  my  experiment  or 
else  decamp,  for  that  girl's  contradictory  face  is  a  constant 
incentive  to  profanity." 

After  seeing  Mrs.  Mayhew,  however,  he  felt  that  justice 
required  him  to  admit  that  the  daughter  was  a  natural 
and  logical  sequence;  and  in  the  mother  he  saw  an  element 
more  hopelessly  inartistic  and  disheartening  than  anything 
in  the  girl  herself;  for  even  if  the  latter  could  be  changed, 
would  not  the  shadow  of  the  stout  and  dressy  mother  ever 
fall  athwart  the  picture  ? 

Van  Berg  retired  with  the  feeling  that  his  project  of 
illumining  a  face  by  awakening  a  mind  that,  as  yet,  had 
slept,  did  not  promise  very  brilliantly. 


SPITE  47 

Miss  Mayhew  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  it  was  a  re- 
lief not  to  see  the  critical  artist  at  breakfast,  nor  to  meet 
him  as  she  strolled  from  the  parlors  to  the  piazza  and  thence 
to  the  croquet-ground,  where  she  listlessly  declined  to  take 
part  in  a  game. 

There  was,  in  truth,  great  need  that  her  mind  should  be 
awakened  and  her  whole  nature  radically  changed,  if  it 
were  a  possible  thing — a  need  shown  by  the  fact  the  fair 
June  morning,  with  its  fragrance  and  beauty,  could  not 
light  up  her  face  with  its  own  freshness  and  gladness.  The 
various  notes  of  the  birds  were  only  sounds;  the  landscape, 
seen  for  the  first  time,  was  like  the  map  of  Switzerland, 
that,  in  the  days  of  her  geography  lessons,  gave  her  as 
vivid  an  idea  of  the  country  as  a  dry  sermon  does  of 
heaven.  Although  her  ears  and  eyes  were  so  pretty,  she 
was,  in  the  deepest  and  truest  sense  of  the  word,  deaf  and 
blind.  The  lack  of  some  petty  and  congenial  excitement 
made  time  hang  heavily  on  her  hands  and  clouded  her  lace 
with  ennui. 

Even  her  cousin  had  failed  her,  for  he  was  down  at  the 
stables,  making  arrangements  for  the  care  of  his  bays  and 
his  carriage.  Thus  from  very  idleness  she  fell  to  nurs- 
ing her  small  spite  against  the  man  whose  voice  had  made 
such  harsh  discord  with  the  honeyed  chorus  of  flattery  to 
which  she  was  accustomed.  She  wished  that  he  would  ap- 
pear, and  that  in  some  way  she  might  show  how  little  she 
cared  for  him  or  his  opinion;  but  as  he  did  not,  she  at  last 
lounged  to  her  room  and  sought  to  kill  a  few  hours  with  a 
novel. 

Her  wounded  pride,  however,  induced  her  to  dress  quite 
elaborately  for  dinner;  for  she  had  faith  in  no  better  way 
of  asserting  her  personality  than  that  afforded  by  the  toilet. 
She  would  teach  him,  by  the  admiration  she  excited  in 
others,  how  mistaken  he  had  been  in  his  estimate,  and  her 
vanity  whispered  that  even  he  could  not  look  upon  her 
beauty  for  any  length  of  time  without  being  won  by  it  as  so 
many  others  had  been. 


48  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

The  change  of  seats  having  been  effected,  she  scarcely 
thought  it  necessary  to  turn  her  back  upon  him  while  sit- 
ting at  such  a  dim  distance.  Indeed  she  was  inclined  to 
regret  the  change,  for  now  her  toilet  and  little  airs,  which 
she  imagined  to  be  so  pretty,  would  be  lost  upon  him. 

It  would  seem  that  they  were,  for  Van  Berg  ate  his  din- 
ner as  quietly,  and  chatted  as  unconcernedly  to  those  about 
him  as  if  she  had  no  existence.  Never  had  a  man  ignored 
her  so  completely  before,  and  she  felt  that  she  could  never 
forgive  him. 

After  the  event  of  the  day  was  over,  and  the  guests  were 
circling  and  eddying  through  the  halls  and  parlors  and  out 
on  the  piazza,  Ida  still  had  the  annoyance  of  observing  that 
Van  Berg  was  utterly  oblivious  of  her  as  far  as  she  could 
perceive.  He  spoke  here  and  there  with  the  ease  and  free- 
dom of  one  familiar  with  society,  and  she  saw  more  eyes  fol- 
lowing his  tall  form  approvingly  than  were  turned  toward 
herself.  Few  gentlemen  remained  at  the  house  during  the 
week,  and  Miss  Mayhew  was  not  a  favorite  with  her  own 
sex.  Those  who  most  closely  resembled  her  in  character 
envied  rather  than  admired  her,  and  those  who  were  better 
endowed  and  developed  found  fault  even  with  her  beauty 
from  a  moral  point  of  view,  as  Van  Berg  had  on  artistic 
grounds.  She  consoled  herself,  however,  with  the  thought 
that  it  was  Saturday,  and  that  the  evening  boat  and  trains 
would  bring  a  number  of  gentlemen,  among  whom  she  told 
Stanton,  exultantly,  that  she  had  "some  friends" — moths 
rather  whose  wings  were  in  danger  of  being  singed. 

As  the  afternoon  was  not  sultry,  Stanton  had  said  to  his 
friend  that  they  could  enjoy  their  cigars  and  a  ride  at  the 
same  time,  and  that  he  would  drive  around  for  him  in  a 
few  minutes.  Ida  overheard  the  remark,  and,  quietly  slip- 
ping off  to  her  room,  returned  with  her  hat  and  shawl.  As 
her  cousin  approached  she  hastened  down  the  steps,  past 
Van  Berg,  exclaiming: 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Ik!  How  good  of  you!  I  was  dying 
for  a  ride.     Don't  trouble  yourself.     I  can  get  in  without 


SPITE  49 

aid,"   and  she  sprang   lightly  into  the   buggy  before  her 
cousin  could  utter  a  word. 

He  turned  with  a  look  of  comic  dismay  and  deprecation 
to  his  friend,  who  stood  laughing  on  the  steps.  Ida,  also, 
could  not  resist  her  inclination  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
artist's  chagrin  and  disappointment,  but  she  was  provoked 
beyond  measure  to  find  him  acting  as  if  Stanton  were  the 
victim  rather  than  himself.  As  the  sweep  of  the  road  again 
brought  them  in  view  of  the  piazza,  this  impression  was  con- 
firmed by  seeing  Van  Berg  stroll  carelessly  away,  complac- 
ently puffing  his  cigar  as  if  he  had  already  dismissed  her  from 
his  mind. 

"Really,"  grumbled  Stanton,  "I  never  had  beauty  and 
happiness  thrust  upon  me  so  unexpectedly  before." 

"Very  well  then,"  retorted  Ida;  "stop  your  horses  and 
thrust  me  out  into  the  road.  I'd  rather  go  back,  even  if  I 
have  to  walk. ' ' 

"Oh,  no!  there  is  to  be  no  going -back  for  two  hours  or 
more.  I  once  cured  a  horse  of  running  away  by  making 
him  run  long  after  he  wanted  to  stop." 

"You  seem  to  be  learning  your  friend's  hateful  manners. ' ' 

"I  asked  you  this  morning  if  you  would  take  a  drive,  and 
you  declined." 

"I  changed  my  mind." 

"Very  abruptly,  indeed,  it  seemed.  Since  you  took  so 
much  trouble  to  annoy  my  friend,  it's  a  pity  you  failed." 

"I  don't  believe  I  failed.  He's  probably  as  cross  as  you 
are  about  it,  only  he  can  keep  it  to  himself." 

"Dove-like  creatiah!  thanks.  Will  you  please  drive 
while  I  light  a  cigar?" 

"1  don't  like  any  one  to  smoke  as  near  me  as  you  are." 

"If  your  theory  in  regard  to  Van  Berg  is  correct,  none 
of  us  will  enjoy  what  we  like  this  afternoon.  Of  course  I 
never  smoke  without  a  lady's  permission,  but  unless  quieted 
by  a  cigar,  I  am  a  very  reckless  driver,"  and  he  enforced  his 
words  by  a  sharp  crack  of  the  whip,  which  sent  the  horses 
off  like  the  wind. 

3— Roe— XII 


50  A   FACE   ILLUMINED. 

"Oh,  stop  them;  smoke;  do  anything  hateful  you  wish, 
so  you  don't  break  my  neck.  I  will  never  ride  with  you 
again,  and  I  wish  1  had  never  come  to  this  horrid  place; 
and  if  your  sneering  painter  does  not  leave  soon,  1 
will." 

"I'm  afraid  Van  would  survive,  and  you  only  suffer 
from  your  spite.  But  come,  since  you  have  so  sweetly  per- 
mitted me  to  smoke,  I'll  make  your  penance  as  light  as  pos- 
sible, and  then  we  will  consider  matters  even  between  us," 
and  away  they  bowled  up  breezy  hills  and  down  into  shady 
valleys,  Stanton  stolidly  smoking,  and  Ida  nursing  her  petty 
wrath.  Two  flitting  ghosts  hastening  to  escape  from  the 
light  of  day  could  not  have  seen  less,  or  have  felt  less  sym- 
pathy with  the  warm  beautiful  scenes  through  which  they 
were  passing.  There  is  no  insulation  so  perfect  as  that  of 
small,  selfish  natures  preoccupied  with  a  pique. 

W  hen,  late  in  the  afternoon,  her  cousin,  with  mock  po- 
liteness, assisted  her  to  alight  at  the  entrance  of  the  hotel, 
Ida  was  compelled  to  feel  that  she  had  indeed  been  the 
chief  victim  of  her  own  spite.  But,  with  the  usual  logic  of 
human  nature,  she  never  thought  of  blaming  herself,  and 
her  resentment  was  chiefly  directed  against  the  man  whose 
every  word  and  glance,  although  he  was  but  a  stranger, 
had  seemed  to  possess  a  power  to  annoy  and  wound  from 
the  first.  She  felt  an  almost  venomous  desire  to  retaliate; 
but  he  appeared  invulnerable  in  his  quiet  and  easy  superi- 
ority, while  she,  who  expected,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that 
all  masculine  thoughts  should  follow  her  admiringly,  had 
been  compelled  to  see  that  his  critical  eyes  had  detected 
that  in  her  which  had  awakened  his  contempt. 

"I'll  teach  him  this  evening,  when  my  gentlemen  friends 
arrive,  how  ridiculous  are  his  airs,"  she  muttered,  as  she 
went  to  her  room  and  sought  to  enhance  her  beauty  by  all 
the  arts  of  which  she  was  the  mistress.  "I'll  show  him 
that  there  are  plenty  who  can  see  what  he  cannot,  or  will 
not.  Because  he  is  an  artist,  he  need  not  think  he  can  face 
me  out  of  the   knowledge  of  my  beauty,  the  existence  of 


SPITE  51 

which  I  have  been  assured  of  by  so  many  eyes  and  tongues 
ever  since  I  can  remember." 

When  she  came  down  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  stages 
and  carriages,  she  was  indeed  radiant  with  all  the  beauty  of 
which  she  was  then  capable.  Her  neck  and  shoulders,  with 
their  exquisite  lines  and  curves,  were  more  suggestively  re- 
vealed than  hidden  by  a  slight  drapery  of  gauze- like  illu- 
sion, and  her  white  rounded  arms  were  bare.  She  trod 
with  the  light  airy  grace  of  youth,  and  yet  with  the  as- 
sured manner  of  one  who  is  looking  forward  to  the  famil- 
iar experiences  of   a  reigning  belle. 

Van  Berg,  from  his  quiet  corner  of  observation,  was 
compelled  to  admit  that,  seen  at  her  present  distance,  she 
almost  embodied  his  best  dreams,  and  might  do  so  wholly 
were  there  less  of  the  fashionable  art  of  the  hour,  and  more 
of  nature,  in  her  appearance.  But  he  knew  well  that  if  she 
came  nearer,  and  spoke  so  as  to  reveal  herself,  the  fatal  de- 
fect in  her  beauty  would  be  as  apparent  as  a  black  line  run- 
ning athwart  the  sculptured  face  of  a  Greek  goddess.  The 
only  question  with  him  was,  did  the  ominous  deformity  lie 
so  near  the  surface  that  it  could  be  refined  away,  or  was  it 
ingrained  into  the  very  material  of  her  nature,  thus  forming 
an  essential  part  of  herself  ?  He  feared  that  the  latter  might 
be  true,  or  that  the  remedy  was  far  beyond  his  skill  or  power; 
but  every  glance  he  caught  cf  the  girl,  as  with  her  mother 
she  paced  the  further  end  of  the  piazza,  deepened  his  regret, 
as  an  artist,  that  so  much  beauty  should  be  in  degrading 
bondage  to  a  seeming  ioo!. 


52  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER   VI 

RECKLESS  WORDS   AND  DEEDS 

LIGHT  carriages  now  began  to  wheel  rapidly  up  to  the 
entrance,  and  were  followed  soon  by  the  lumbering 
and  heavily-laden  stages.  Joyous  greetings  and 
merry  repartee  made  the  scene  pleasant  to  witness  even 
by  one  who,  like  Van  Berg,  had  no  part  in  it.  Stanton, 
who  at  this  moment  joined  him,  drew  his  special  attention 
to  a  thin  and  undersized  gentleman  somewhat  past  middle 
age,  who  mounted  the  steps  with  a  tread  that  was  as  inelas- 
tic as  his  face  was  devoid  of  animation. 

4 'There  is  poor  Uncle  May  hew,' *  remarked  the  young 
man  indifferently.  "I  suppose  I  must  go  and  speak  to 
him." 

"Mr.  May  hew?"  said  Van  Berg,  in  some  surprise, 
"You  have  not  spoken  of  him  before.  I  was  not  aware 
that  there  was  any  such  person  in  existence." 

"You  are  not  to  blame  for  that,"  replied  Stanton  with  a 
shrug.  "You  might  have  been  one  of  the  friends  of  the 
family  and  scarcely  have  learned  the  fact.  Indeed,  poor 
man,  he  only  about  half  exists,  for  he  has  been  so  long 
overshadowed  by  his  fashionable  wife  and  daughter  that 
he  is  bat  a  sickly  plant  of  a  man." 

Van  Berg  saw  that  the  greeting  received  by  Mr.  May- 
hew  from  his  wife  and  daughter  was  very  undemonstrative, 
to  say  the  least,  and  that  then  the  gentleman  quickly  disap- 
peared, as  if  fearing  that  he  might  be  in  the  way. 

"From  my  very  limited  means  of  judging,"  Van  Berg 
remarked,  "I  cannot  see  anything  more  objectionable  in 
the  head  of  the  family  than  in  the  other  members." 


RECKLESS    WORDS   AND   DEEDS  53 

"Your  phrase,  'head  of  the  family,'  as  applied  to  Mr. 
May  hew,  makes  me  smile.  His  name  figures  at  the  head 
of  the  large  family  bills,  but  scarcely  elsewhere  with  much 
prominence.  You  will  soon  learn,  if  you  remain  here,  that 
Mr.  Mayhew  imbibes  rather  more  than  is  good  for  him,  so  I 
may  as  well  mention  the  disagreeable  fact  at  once.  But  to 
do  the  poor  man  justice,  I  suppose  he  drinks  to  keep  his 
spirits  up  to  the  ordinary  level,  rather  than  from  any  hope 
of  becoming  a  little  jolly  occasionally.  Why  my  aunt  mar- 
ried him  I  scarcely  know ;  and  yet  I  have  often  thought  that 
he  might  be  very  different  did  she  not  so  quench  him  by  a 
manner  all  her  own.  As  it  is,  his  life  seems  to  consist  of 
toiling  and  moiling  all  the  week,  and  of  stolidly  and  joy- 
lessly soaking  himself  into  semi-stupidity  on  Sunday.  If 
this  wretched  state  of  affairs  could  be  kept  secret  I  would 
not  mention  it  even  to  you,  my  intimate  friend;  but,  since 
it  continues  no  secret  wherever  they  happen  to  remain  for 
any  length  of  time,  I  would  rather  tell  you  the  exact  truth 
at  once,  than  permit  you  to  guess  at  it  through  distorted  ru- 
mors. As  you  artists  occasionally  express  yourselves  con- 
cerning pictures,  so  I  suppose  you  will  think  that  this  fam- 
ily, with  all  its  wealth,  is  quite  lacking  in  tone." 

4 'Well,  Stanton,  I  must  admit  that  I  find  myself  chiefly 
inclined  toward  the  subdued  and  neutral- tinted  Mr.  May- 
hew.  If  you  have  a  chance  I  wish  you  would  introduce  me 
to  him." 

"Are  you  in  earnest?" 

"Certainly." 

"Then  I'll  ask  him  to  smoke  with  us  after  supper. 
Well,  Van,  I  congratulate  you  again  that  your  correct  and 
cultivated  taste  enabled  you  to  see  the  fatal  flaw  in  my 
cousin's  beauty.  If  you  had  been  bewitched  by  her,  and 
had  insisted  on  imagining  (as  so  many  others  have  done) 
that  her  faultless  features  were  the  reflex  of  what  she  is  or 
could  become  in  mind  and  character,  I  might  have  had  a 
good  deal  of  trouble  with  you;  for  you  are  a  mulish  fellow 
when  you  get  a  purpose  in  your  head.     I  don't  care  how 


54  A   FACE  ILLUMINED 

badly  singed  the  average  run  of  moths  become.  You  may 
see  two  or  three  fluttering  around  to-night,  if  you  care  to 
look  on,  but  I  wish  no  friend  of  mine  to  make  sport,  at  seri- 
ous cost  to  himself,  for  yonder  incorrigible  coquette,  if  she 
is  my  cousin.  But  after  what  you  have  seen  and  now  know, 
you  would  be  safe  enough,  even  if  predisposed  to  folly.  The 
little  minx!  but  I  punished  her  well  for  her  spite  this  after- 
noon." 

4 'Oh,  most  prudent  Ulysses  I  you  have  indeed  filled  my 
ears  with  wax.  I  thank  you  all  the  same  as  if  my  danger 
were  greater." 

44  Well,  view  them  all  with  such  charity  as  you  can.  I 
hope  you  were  not  very  much  annoyed  by  the  loss  of  your 
ride.  The  young  lady  will  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  play  such  a 
trick  again.  I'll  join  you  after  supper  in  this  your  favorite 
and  out-of-the-way  corner." 

44  Was  beauty  ever  environed  within  and  without  by  such 
desperately  prosaic  and  inartistic  surroundings?"  mused 
Van  Berg.  44It  glistens  like  a  lost  jewel  in  an  ash- barrel; 
or,  more  correctly,  it  is  like  an  exquisite  flower  that  nature 
has  preversely  made  the  outcome  of  a  rank  and  poisonous 
vine.  Of  course  the  flower  is  poisonous  also,  and  as  soon  as 
its  first  delicate  bloom  is  over,  will  grow  as  rank  and  repul- 
sive as  the  vine  that  bears  it.  Like  produces  like;  and  with 
such  parentage  what  hope  is  there  for  her  ?  I  am  glad  no 
one  suspects  my  absurd  project;  for  every  hour  convinces 
me  of  its  impracticability.  The  ancient  Undine  was  a  myth, 
and  my  modern  Undine  might  be  called  a  white  lie,  but  one 
that  will  grow  darker  every  day.  At  a  distance  she  presents 
the  resemblance  of  a  very  fair  woman,  but  I  have  been  un- 
able to  detect  a  single  element  yet  that  will  prevent  her  from 
developing  into  an  old  and  ugly  hag,  in  spite  of  all  that  art 
and  costume  can  do  for  her." 

After  supper  Stanton  brought  Mr.  May  hew  to  Van  Berg's 
retired  nook,  and  the  artist  gave  the  hand  of  the  weary,  list- 
less man  such  a  cordial  pressure  as  to  cause  him  a  slight  sur- 
prise, but  after  satisfying  his  faint  interest  by  a  brief  glance, 


RECKLESS    WORDS    AND    DEEDS  55 

he  turned  the  back  of  his  chair  toward  all  the  gay  company, 
although  it  contained  his  wife  and  daughter,  purled  mechan- 
ically at  his  cigar,  and  looked  vacantly  into  space.  Before 
the  evening  was  over,  however,  Van  Berg  had  drawn  from 
him  several  quite  animated  remarks,  and  secured  the  prom- 
ise that  he  would  join  him  and  Stanton  in  a  ramble  immedi- 
ately after  breakfast  the  following  morning. 

Nor  had  the  young  man  been  oblivious  of  the  daughter, 
who  now  seemed  in  her  native  element.  From  his  dusky 
point  of  observation  he  caught  frequent  glimpses  of  her, 
now  whirling  through  a  waltz  in  the  parlor,  now  talking 
and  laughing  in  a  rather  pronounced  way  from  the  midst 
of  a  group  of  gentlemen,  and  again  coquettishly  stealing  off 
with  one  of  them  through  the  moonlit  walks.  Her  manner, 
whether  assumed  or  real,  was  that  of  extravagant  gayety. 
Occasionally  she  seemed  to  glance  toward  their  obscure 
corner,  but  neither  she  nor  her  mother  came  to  seek  the 
man  who  had  been  toiling  all  the  week  to  maintain  their 
idle  luxury. 

As  Mrs.  May  hew  and  her  daughter  were  preparing  for 
dinner  on  the  following  day,  Mr.  Mayhew  entered  with  a 
brisker  step  than  usual. 

11  Why,  father,  where  have  you  been?"  Ida  asked,  sur- 
prised by  the  fact  that  he  had  not  been  drinking  and  dozing 
in  his  room  all  the  morning. 

"I  have  been  shown  a  glimpse  of  something  that  I  have 
not  seen  for  many  years." 

''Indeed,  and  what  is  that?" 

11  Beauty  that  seemed  beautiful." 

"That's  a  compliment  to  us,"  remarked  Mrs.  Mayhew, 
acidly. 

"I  mean  the  kind  of  beauty  which  does  one  good  and 
makes  a  man  wish  that  he  were  a  man." 

"Do  you  mean  an  unmarried  man?"  said  his  wife  with  a 
discordant  laugh. 

"Probably  your  own  wishes  suggested  that  speech, 
madam,"   replied  the  husband,    bitterly. 


56  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"And  pray,  where  did  you  find  so  much  beauty?"  said 
Mrs.  May  hew,  ignoring  his  last  remark. 

"On  a  breezy  hillside.  It's  a  kind  of  beauty,  too,  that 
one  can  enjoy  without  paying  numberless  bills  for  its  en- 
hancement.    I  refer  to  that  of  the  scenery." 

"Oh,"  remarked  Mrs.  May  hew,  indifferently;  "it  would 
have  been  more  to  your  credit  if  you  had  gone  to  church 
instead  cf  tramping  around  the  fields." 

"1  think  the  fields  have  done  more  for  me  than  church 
for  you." 

"Why  so?"  was  the  sharp  response. 

"They  have  at  least  kept  me  from  indulging  in  one  bad 
habit.     1  am  sober." 

"They  do  not  keep  you  from  making  ill-natured  re- 
marks," said  Mrs.  May  hew,  sailing  out  of  the  room  fully 
bedizened  for  the  solemnity  of  dinner. 

"You  say  you  were  'shown'  all  this  beauty,"  remarked 
Ida,  who  was  giving  the  finishing  touches  to  her  toilet  be- 
fore a  large  mirror,  and  by  whom  the  frequent  bickerings 
of  her  parents  were  scarcely  noted.  "Who  officiated  as 
showman  ?" 

"A  man  who  understands  the  beauties  of  a  landscape  so 
well  that  he  could  make  them  visible  even  to  my  dim  eyes, 
and  attractive  to  my  deadened  and  besotted  nature.  I'd 
give  all  the  world  if  I  could  be  young,  strong,  and  hopeful 
like  him  again.  It  was  good  of  him — yes,  good  of  him,  to 
try  to  cheer  a  stranger  with  pleasant  thoughts  and  sights. 
I  suppose  you  are  acquainted  with  Mr.  Van  Berg,  since  he 
is  a  friend  of  Ik's?" 

"No,  I'm  not,"  was  the  sharp  reply;  "nor  do  I  wish 
to  be." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Mr.  May  hew  in  some  surprise. 

"It's  sufficient  that  I  don't  like  him." 

"He's  not  of  your  style,  I  suppose  you  mean  to  say?" 

"Indeed  he  is  not." 

' '  So  much  the  worse  for  your  style,  Ida. ' ' 

She  was  sweeping  petulantly  from  the  room  when  her 


RECKLESS    WORDS    AND    DEEDS  57 

father  added  with  a  depth  of  feeling  very  unlike  his  wonted 
apathy:  "Oh,  Ida,  it  were  better  that  all  three  of  us  had 
never  been  born  than  to  live  as  we  do !  Your  life  and  your 
mother's  is  froth,  and  mine  is  mud.  How  I  hated  it  all  this 
bright  June  morning,  as  Mr.  Van  Berg  gave  me  a  glimpse 
into  another  and  better  world!" 

14 Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Mr.  Van  Berg  presumed  to 
criticise  my  mode  of  life  ?' '  Ida  asked  with  a  darkening 
face. 

"Oh,  no,  no!  How  small  and  egotistical  all  your  ideas 
are!  He  never  mentioned  you,  and  probably  never  thought 
of  you.  He  only  took  a  little  pains  that  a  tired  and  dis- 
pirited man  might  see  and  feel  the  eternal  beauty  and  fresh- 
ness of  nature,  as  one  might  give,  in  passing,  a  cup  of  water 
to  a  traveller. ' ' 

"I  don't  see  what  reason  you  have  for  feeling  and  ap- 
pearing so  forlornly,  thus  asking  for  sympathy  from  stran- 
gers, as  it  were,  and  causing  it  to  seem  as  if  we  were  making 
a  martyr  of  you.  As  for  this  artist,  with  his  superior  airs, 
I  detest  him.  He  never  loses  a  chance  to  annoy  and  mor- 
tify me.  I've  no  doubt  he  hoped  you  would  come  home 
and  tell  us,  as  }^ou  have,  how  much  better  he  was  than—" 

"There,  there,  quit  that  kind  of  talk  or  I'll  be  drunk  in 
half  an  hour,"  said  her  father,  harshly.  "If  you  had  the 
heart  of  a  woman,  let  alone  that  of  a  daughter,  you  would 
thank  the  man  who  had  unwittingly  kept  me  from  making 
a  beast  of  myself  for  one  day  at  least.  Go  on  down  to  your 
dinner,  I'm  in  no  mood  for  eating." 

She  went  without  a  word,  but  with  a  severer  compunc- 
tion of  conscience  than  she  had  ever  felt  before  in  her  life. 
Her  father's  face  and  words  smote  her  with  a  keen  reproach, 
piercing  the  thick  armor  of  her  vanity  and  selfishness.  She 
saw,  for  the  moment,  how  unnatural  and  unlovely  she  must 
appear  to  him,  in  spite  of  her  beauty,  and  the  thought 
crossed  her  mind: 

"Mr.  Van  Berg  despises  me  because  he  sees  me  in  the 
same  light.     How  I  hate  his  cold,  critical  eyes!" 


58  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

Even  at  his  far  remove  Van  Berg  could  see  that  she  was 
ill  at  ease  during  the  dinner  hour.  There  would  be  times 
of  forced  and  unnatural  gayety,  followed  by  a  sudden  cloud 
upon  the  brow  and  an  abstracted  air,  as  if  her  thoughts  had 
naught  to  do  with  the  chattering  group  around  her.  It 
would  also  appear  that  her  appetite  was  flagging  unusually, 
and  once  or  twice  he  thought  she  darted  an  angry  look 
toward  him. 

As  if  something  were  burdening  her  mind,  she  at  last 
left  the  table  hastily,  before  the  others  were  through  with 
their  dessert. 

As  may  be  surmised,  she  sought  her  father's  room.  Ke- 
ceiving  no  response  to  her  knock,  she  entered  and  saw  at  a 
glance  the  confirmation  of  her  fears.  Her  father  sat  in  an 
armchair  with  his  head  upon  his  breast.  A  brandy  bottle 
stood  on  the  table  beside  him.  At  the  sound  of  her  step 
he  looked  up  for  a  moment  with  heavy  eyes,  and  mumbled: 

"He  ain't  of  your  style,  is  he?  Nor  of  mine,  either. 
Froth  and  mud!" 

Ida  gave  a  sudden  stamp  of  rage  and  disgust,  and  whirled 
from  the  room. 

Van  Berg  happened  to  see  her  as  she  descended  to  the 
main  hallway,  and  her  face  was  so  repulsive  as  to  suggest 
to  him  the  lines  from  Shakespeare: 

"In  nature  there's  no  blemish,  but  the  mind; 
None  can  be  called  deformed,  but  the  unkind; 
Virtue  is  beauty ;  but  the  beauteous — evil 
Are  empty  trunks,  o'erflourished  by  the  devil." 

That  afternoon  and  evening  her  reckless  levity  and  open 
coquetry  secured  unfavorable  comment  not  only  from  the 
artist,  but  from  others  far  more  indifferent,  whose  attention 
she  half  compelled  by  a  manner  that  did  not  suggest  spring 
violets. 

Van  Berg  was  disgusted.  He  was  less  versed  in  human 
nature  than  in  art,  and  did  not  recognize  in  the  forced  and 
obtrusive  gayety  the  effort  to  stifle  the  voice  of  an  aroused 


RECKLESS    WORDS    AND    DEEDS  59 

conscience.  Even  to  her  blunted  sense  of  right  it  seemed  a 
hateful  and  disgraceful  truth  that  a  stranger  had  helped  her 
father  toward  manhood,  and  that  she  had  destroyed  the 
transient  and  salutary  influence.  Her  complacency  had 
been  disturbed  from  the  time  her  cousin  had  repeated  Van 
Berg's  remark,  llI  could  not  speak  civilly  to  a  lady  that  I 
had  just  seen  giggling  and  flirting  through  one  of  Beetho- 
ven's finest  symphonies;"  and  now,  through  an  unexpected 
chain  of  circumstances,  she  had,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life, 
reached  a  point  of  self- disgust  and  self-loathing.  Such  a 
moral  condition  is  evil's  opportunity  when  a  disposition  to- 
ward penitence  or  reform  is  either  absent  or  resisted.  The 
thought,  therefore,  of  her  father's  drunkenness  that  day,  and 
of  herself  as  the  immediate  cause,  made  her  so  wretched  and 
reckless  that  she  tried  to  forget  her  miserable  self  in  excite- 
ment, as  he  had  in  lethargy.  Even  her  mother  chided  her, 
asking  if  she  did  not  "remember  the  day." 

"Indeed,  I  shall  have  occasion  to  remember  it,"  was  her 
ambiguous  answer;  "but  Mondays  in  the  country  are  always 
blue,  and  I'll  do  my  repenting  then.  If  I  were  a  good 
Catholic  I'd  hunt  up  a  priest  to-morrow." 

"I'll  be  your  father-confessor  to-day,"  said  a  black-eyed 
young  man,  twirling  his  mustache. 

"You,  Mr.  Sibley?  You  would  lead  me  into  more 
naughtiness  than  you  would  help  me  out  of,  twice  over. 
For  my  confessor  I  would  choose  an  ancient  man  who  had 
had  his  dinner.  What  a  comfortable  belief  it  is,  to  be  sure! 
All  one  has  to  do  is  to  buzz  one's  sins  through  a  grating 
(that  is  like  an  indefinite  number  of  key- holes)  to  a  dozing 
old  gentleman  inside,  and  then  away  with  a  heart  like  a 
feather,  to  load  up  again.  I'd  bless  the  man  who  could 
convert  me  into  a  Papist." 

But  she  hated  the  man  who  had  made  her  feel  the  need 
of  absolution,  and  who  seemed  an  inseparable  part  of  all  her 
disagreeable  experiences.  Although  he  appeared  to  avoid 
any  locality  in  which  she  remained,  she  observed  his  eyes 
turned  toward  her  more  than  once  before  the  day  closed, 


60  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

and  it  exasperated  her  almost  beyond  all  endurance  to  be- 
lieve that  their  expression  was  only  that  of  contempt. 

She  might  have  been  a  little  better  pleased,  perhaps,  if 
she  had  known  that  she  made  the  artist  almost  as  uncom- 
fortable as  herself.  Never  before  had  there  seemed  to  him 
so  great  a  contrast  between  her  beauty  and  herself,  her  feat- 
ures and  her  face.  The  latter  could  not  fail  to  excite  his 
increased  disgust,  while  the  former  was  so  great  that  he 
found  himself  becoming  resolutely  bent  on  redeeming  them 
from  what  seemed  a  horrid  profanation.  In  accordance  with 
one  of  his  characteristics,  the  more  difficult  the  project 
seemed,  the  more  obstinately  fixed  became  his  purpose  to 
discover  whether  she  had  a  mind  of  sufficient  calibre  to 
transform  her  into  what  she  might  be,  in  contrast  with  what 
she  was.  The  more  he  saw  of  her  the  more  his  interest  as 
an  artist,  and,  indirectly,  as  a  student  of  character,  was 
deepened.  If  she  had  no  mind  worth  naming  he  would 
give  the  problem  up  to  the  solution  of  time,  which,  how- 
ever, promised  nothing  but  a  gradual  fading  away  of  all 
beauty,  and  the  intensifying  of  inward  deformity  until  fully 
reproduced  in  outward  ugliness. 


ANOTHER    FEMININE   PROBLEM  61 


CHAPTER  VII 

ANOTHER   FEMININE   PROBLEM 

EARLY  on  Monday  morning,  Mr.  Mayhew  hastened 
from  the  breakfast- table  to  the  stage,  flis  wife  and 
daughter  were  not  down  to  see  him  off,  and  he 
seemed  desirous  of  shunning  all  recognition.  With  the 
exception  that  his  eyes  were  heavy  and  bloodshot  from 
his  debauch,  his  face  had  the  same  dreary,  apathetic  ex- 
pression which  Van  Berg  had  noted  on  his  arrival.  And 
so  he  went  back  to  his  city  office,  where,  fortunately  for 
him,  mechanical  routine  brought  golden  rewards,  since  he 
was  in  no  state  for  business  enterprise. 

From  his  appearance,  Van  Berg  could  not  help  surmis- 
ing what  had  been  his  condition  the  previous  day.  Indeed 
Stanton,  with  a  contemptuous  shrug,  had  the  same  as  said 
on  Sabbath  evening,  that  his  uncle  had  "dropped  into  the 
old  slough."  Although  neither  of  the  young  men  knew 
how  great  an  impetus  Ida  had  given  her  father  toward  such 
degradation,  they  both  felt  that  if  his  wife  and  daughter  had 
had  the  tact  to  detect  and  appreciate  his  better  mood,  pro- 
duced by  the  morning  ramble,  they  might  have  sustained 
him,  and  given  him  at  least  one  day  that  he  could  remember 
without  shame  and  discouragement. 

Van  Berg  found  something  pathetic  in  Mr.  Mayhew's 
weary  and  disheartened  manner.  It  was  like  that  of  a 
soldier  who  has  suffered  defeat,  but  who  goes  on  with  his 
routine  in  a  mechanical,  spiritless  manner,  because  there  is 
nothing  else  to  do.  He  seemed  to  have  no  hope,  nor  even 
a  thought  of  retrieving  the  past  and  of  reasserting  his  own 


02  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

manhood.  Accustomed  as  the  young  artist  had  ever  been 
to  a  household  in  which  affection,  allied  to  high-bred  court- 
esy and  mutual  respect,  made  even  homely  daily  life  noble 
and  beautiful,  he  could  not  look  on  the  discordant  Mayhew 
family  with  the  charity,  or  the  indifference,  of  those  who 
have  seen  more  of  the  wrong  side  of  life.  Had  there  been 
only  poor,  besmirched  Mr.  Mayhew,  and  stout,  dressy,  vol- 
uble Mrs.  Mayhew,  he  would  never  have  glanced  toward 
them  the  second  time;  but  his  artist's  eyes  had  fallen  on 
the  contradictory  being  that  linked  them  together.  Morally 
and  mentally  she  seemed  one  with  her  parent  stock;  but  her 
beauty,  in  some  of  its  aspects,  was  so  marvellous,  that  the 
desire  to  redeem  it  from  its  hateful  and  grotesque  associa- 
tions grew  stronger  every  hour. 

Instead,  therefore,  of  going  off  upon  solitary  rambles,  as 
he  had  done  hitherto,  he  mingled  more  frequently  in  the 
amusements  of  the  guests  of  the  house,  with  the  hope  he 
would  thus  be  brought  so  often  in  contact  with  the  subject 
of  his  experiment,  that  her  pique  would  wear  away  suffi- 
ciently to  permit  them  to  meet  on  something  like  friendly 
terms. 

As  far  as  the  other  guests  were  concerned,  he  had  no 
trouble.  They  welcomed  him  to  croquet,  to  walking  and 
boating  excursions,  and  to  their  evening  games  and  prom- 
enades. Such  of  the  ladies  as  danced  were  pleased  to  secure 
him  as  a  partner.  Indeed,  from  the  dearth  of  gentlemen 
during  the  week,  he  soon  found  himself  more  in  demand 
than  he  cared  to  be,  and  saw  that  even  the  landlord  was 
beginning  to  rely  upon  him  to  keep  up  a  state  of  pleasur- 
able effervescence  among  his  patrons.  His  languid  friend, 
Stanton,  was  not  a  little  surprised,  and  at  last  remarked: 

41  Why,  Van,  what  has  come  over  you  ?  I  never  saw  you 
in  the  role  of  a  society  fellow  before!" 

But  his  unwonted  courtesies  seemed  wholly  in  vain.  He 
propitiated  and  won  all  save  one,  and  that  one  was  the  sole 
object  of  his  effort.  While  all  others  smiled,  her  face  re- 
mained cold  and  averted.     Indeed  she  took  such  pains  to 


ANOTHER    FEMININE   PROBLEM  63 

ignore  and  avoid  him,  that  it  was  generally  recognized  that 
there  was  a  difference  between  them,  and  of  course  there 
was  an  endless  amount  of  gossiping  surmise.  As  the  hos- 
tility seemed  wholly  on  the  lady's  side,  Van  Berg  appeared 
to  the  better  advantage,  and  Ida  was  all  the  more  provoked 
as  she  recognized  the  fact. 

She  now  began  to  wish  that  she  had  taken  a  different 
course.  As  Van  Berg  pursued  his  present  tactics,  her 
feminine  .intuition  was  not  so  dull  but  that  she  was  led 
to  believe  he  wished  to  make  her  acquaintance.     Of  course 

there  was,  to  her  mind,  but  one  explanation  of  this  fact 

he  was  becoming  fascinated,  like  so  many  others. 

"If  I  were  only  on  speaking  and  flirting  terms,"  she 
thought  (the  two  relations  were  about  synonymous  in  her 
estimation),  "I  might  draw  him  on  to  a  point  which  would 
give  me  a  chance  of  punishing  him  far  more  than  is  now 
possible  by  sullenly  keeping  aloof.  As  it  is,  it  looks  to 
these  people  here  as  if  he  had  jilted  me  instead  of  I  him, 
and  that  I  am  sulking  over  it." 

But  she  had  entangled  herself  in  the  snarl  of  her  own 
previous  words  and  manner.  She  had  charged  her  mother 
and  cousin  to  permit  no  overtures  of  peace;  and  once  or 
twice,  when  mine  host,  in  his  good-natured,  off-hand  man- 
ner, had  sought  to  introduce  them,  she  had  been  so  blind 
and  deaf  to  his  purpose  as  to  appear  positively  rude.  Her 
repugnance  to  the  artist  had  become  a  generally  recognized 
fact;  and  she  had  built  up  such  a  barrier  that  she  could  not 
break  it  down  without  asking  for  more  help  than  was  agree- 
able to  her  pride.  But  she  chafed  inwardly  at  her  false 
position,  and  at  the  increasing  popularity  of  the  object  of 
her  spite. 

Even  her  mother  at  last  formed  his  acquaintance;  and, 
as  the  artist  listened  to  the  garrulous  lady  for  half  an  hour 
with  scarcely  an  interruption,  she  pronounced  him  one  of 
the  most  entertaining  of  men. 

As  Mrs.  Mayhew  was  chanting  his  praises  that  evening, 
Ida  broke  out  petulantly: 


64  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

"Was  there  ever  such  a  gadfly  as  this  artist!  He  pesters 
me  from  morning  till  night." 

"Pesters  you!  I  never  saw  a  lady  so  severely  let  alone 
as  you  are  by  him.  Whatever  is  the  cause  of  your  spite  it 
seems  to  harm  only  yourself,  and  I  should  judge  from  your 
remark  that  it  disturbs  you  much  more  than  you  would 
have  it  appear — certainly  far  more  than  it  does  him." 

There  was  no  soothing  balm  in  these  words,  as  may  well 
be  supposed;  and  yet  the  impression  grew  upon  Ida  that 
the  artist  would  be  friendly  if  he  could;  and  the  belief 
strengthened  with  him  also  that  she  took  far  too  much 
pains  to  manifest  what  she  would  have  others  think  to  be 
mere  indifference  and  dislike,  and  he  intercepted  besides, 
with  increasing  frequency,  furtive  glances  toward  himself. 
So  much  ice  had  accumulated  between  them,  however,  that 
neither  knew  how  it  was  to  be  broken. 

One  day,  about  the  middle  of  the  week,  Van  Berg  found 
a  stranger  seated  opposite  to  him  at  the  dinner-table.  His 
first  impression  was,  that  the  lady  was  not  very  young  and 
that  her  features  were  quite  plain;  but  before  the  meal  was 
over  he  concluded  that  her  face  was  decidedly  interesting, 
and  that  the  suggestion  of  age  had  been  made  by  maturity 
of  character  and  the  impress  which  some  real  and  deep  ex- 
perience gives  to  the  countenance,  rather  than  by  the  trace 
of  years. 

While  yet  a  stranger,  the  expression  of  her  blue  eyes,  as 
she  glanced  around,  was  so  kindly  that  she  at  once  won  the 
goodwill  of  all  who  encountered  them.  This  genial,  friendly 
light  in  her  eyes  seemed  a  marked  characteristic.  It  was  so 
different  from  the  obtrusive,  forward  manner  with  which 
some  seek  to  make  acquaintances,  that  it  would  not  have 
suggested  a  departure  from  modest  reserve,  even  to  the 
most  cynical.  It  rather  indicated  a  heart  aglow  with  gentle 
feeling  and  genial  goodwill,  like  a  maple-wood  fire  on  a  hos- 
pitable hearth,  that  warms  all  who  come  within  the  sphere 
of  its  influence. 

Van  Berg  was  naturally  reserved,  and  slow  to  make  new 


ANOTHER    FEMININE    PROBLEM  65 

acquaintances.  But  before  he  had  stolen  many  glances  at 
the  face  opposite  him  he  began  to  wish  for  the  privilege  of 
speaking  to  her— a  wish  that  was  increased  by  the  fact  that 
they  were  alone  at  the  table,  the  other  guests  who  usually 
occupied  the  chairs  not  having  returned  from  their  morning 
drive.  She  did  not  look  at  him  in  particular,  nor  appear  to 
be  in  the  least  struck  by  his  distingue  air,  as  Ida  had  been 
before  she  was  blinded  by  prejudice;  but  she  looked  out 
upon  the  world  at  large  with  such  a  friendly  aspect  that  he 
was  sure  she  had  something  pleasant  to  say.  He  was  there- 
fore well  pleased  when  at  last  the  landlord  bustled  up  in  his 
brusque  way  and  said : 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  permit  me  to  make  you  acquainted  with 
Miss  Burton.  She  has  had  the  faith  to  put  herself  under 
my  charge  for  a  few  weeks,  and  I  shall  reward  her  by  shar- 
ing the  responsibility  with  you,  who  seem  blessed  with  the 
benevolent  desire  of  giving  us  all  a  good  time,"  and  then 
he  bustled  off  to  look  after  some  other  matter  which  re- 
quired his  attention  during  the  critical  hour  of  dinner. 

Miss  Burton  acknowledged  the  young  man's  bow  with- 
out a  trace  of  affectation  or  reserve. 

"I  shall  try  not  to  prove  a  burden  to  either  of  you,"  she 
said,  with  a  smile. 

"I  have  already  discovered  that  you  will  not  be,"  said 
Van  Berg,  "and  was  wishing  for  an  introduction." 

"I  hope  your  wishes  may  always  find  so  ready  a  fulfil- 
ment." 

"That's  a  kindly  wish,  Miss  Burton,  but  a  vain  one." 
^  "Were   we   misanthropical   people,    Mr.  Van  Berg,   we 
might  sigh,  'and  such  are  human  wishes  generally.'  " 

"One  is  often  tempted  to  do  that  anyway,  even  when  not 
especially  prone  to  look  askance  at  fortune." 

"There  is  an  easy  way  of  escaping  that  temptation." 

"How?" 

"Do  not  form  many  wishes." 

"Have  you  very  few  wishes  ?" 

With  a  slight  and  piquant  motion  of  her  head  she  re- 


66  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

plied:  "I  was  only  giving  a  bit  of  trite  advice.  It's  asking 
Sb  great  deal  to  require  that  one  should  both  preach  and 
practice. ' ' 

"I  think  you  are  possessed  by  one  wish  which  swallows 
up  most  others,"  said  Van  Berg,  a  little  abruptly. 

A  visible  pallor  overspread  her  face,  and  she  drew  back 
perceptibly  as  one  might  shrink  from  a  blow. 

"You  know  how  strong  first  impressions  are,"  resumed 
Van  Berg  hastily,  "and  the  thought  has  passed  through  my 
mind  that  you  might  be  so  preoccupied  in  wishing  good 
things  for  others  as  to  quite  forget  yourself." 

"If  one  could  be  completely  occupied  in  that  way,"  she 
said,  with  a  faint  smile  which  suggested  rather  than  revealed 
a  vista  in  her  past  experience,  "one  might  have  little  occa- 
sion to  wish  for  anything  for  self.  But,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  only 
we  poor  unreasoning  women  put  much  faith  in  first  impres- 
sions; and  you  know  how  often  they  mislead  even  us,  who 
are  supposed  to  have  safe  instincts." 

"Do  they  often  mislead  you?" 

"Indeed,  sir,"  she  replied,  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  her 
eye,  "I  think  you  must  have  learned  the  questions  in  the 
catechism,  if  not  the  answers." 

Van  Berg  bit  his  lip.  Here  was  a  suggestion  of  a  thorn 
in  the  sweetbrier  he  believed  he  had  discovered. 

"Now  see  how  far  I  am  astray,"  she  resumed  with  a 
frankness  which  had  in  it  no  trace  of  familiarity.  "It  is  my 
impression  you  are  a  lawyer." 

At  this  Van  Berg  laughed  outright  and  said:  "You  are 
indeed  mistaken.  I  have  no  connection  with  the  influential 
class  whose  business  is  to  make  and  evade  the  laws.  I  am 
only  one  among  the  humble  masses  who  aim  to  obey  them. 
But  perhaps  you  think  your  intuition  goes  deeper  than 
surface  facts  and  that  I  ought  to  have  been  a  cross- 
questioner." 

"lam  quite  sure  my  intuition  is  correct  in  thinking  that 
you  would  not  be  very  cross  about  it." 

"Perhaps  not,  if  disarmed  by  so  smiling  a  face  as  yours." 


ANOTHER    FEMININE    PROBLEM  67 

The  others,  who  had  been  delayed  by  a  longer  ride  than 
usual,  now  entered  and  took  the  vacant  chairs  around  the 
table.  Van  Berg  felt  sufficiently  acquainted  with  them  to 
introduce  Miss  Burton,  for  he  was  curious  to  observe 
whether  she  would  make  the  same  impression  on  them  as 
he  had  been  conscious  of  himself. 

They  bowed  with  the  quiet,  well-bred  manner  of  society 
people,  but  were  at  first  inclined  to  pay  little  heed  to  the 
plainly  dressed  and  rather  plain- appearing  young  stranger. 
As  one  and  another,  however,  glanced  toward  her,  some- 
thing about  her  seemed  to  linger  in  their  memories  and 
cause  them  to  look  again.  The  lady  next  to  her  offered  a 
commonplace  remark,  chiefly  out  of  politeness,  and  received 
so  pleasant  a  reply  in  return  that  she  turned  her  thoughts 
as  well  as  her  eyes  to  see  who  it  really  was  that  had  made 
it.  Then  another  spoke,  and  the  response  led  her  to  speak 
again  and  again,  and  soon  the  entire  party  were  describing 
their  drive  and  living  over  its  pleasantest  features;  and  be- 
fore the  meal  ended  they  were  all  gathered,  metaphorically, 
around  the  mystical,  maple- wood  fire  that  burned  on  the 
hearth  of  a  nature  that  seemed  so  hospitable  and  kindly  as 
to  have  no  other  mission  than  to  cheer  and  entertain. 

"Who  is  that  little  brown  thrush  of  a  woman  that  you 
were  so  taken  with  at  dinner?"  asked  Stanton,  as  they 
were  enjoying  a  quiet  smoke  in  their  favorite  corner  of 
the  piazza. 

"Good  for  you,  Stanton.  I  never  knew  you  to  be  so 
appreciative  before.  Your  term  quite  accurately  describes 
her.  She  is  both  shy  and  reserved,  but  not  diffident  or  awk- 
ward in  the  least.  Indeed  her  manner  might  strike  some  as 
being  peculiarly  frank.  But  there  is  something  back  of  it 
all;  for  young  as  she  undoubtedly  is,  her  face  suggests  to 
me  some  deep  and  unusual  experience." 

"Jupiter  Ammon!  What  an  abyss  of  mystery,  surmise, 
and  metaphysics  you  fell  into  while  I  was  eating  my  dinner! 
I  used  the  phrase  'brown  thrush,'  only  in  reference  to  her 
dress  and  general  homeliness." 


68  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon!  I  take  all  back  about  your 
nice  appreciation  of  character.  I  now  grasp  the  whole  truth 
— your  attention  wandered  sufficiently  from  your  dinner  to 
observe  that  she  wore  a  brown  dress,  and  the  one  fact  about 
the  thrush  that  has  impressed  you  is  that  it  is  brown.  'Here 
be  truths'  which  leave  nothing  more  to  be  said." 

"You  imaginative  fellows  are  often  ridiculously  astray 
on  the  other  tack,  and  see  a  thousand-fold  more  than  ex- 
ists. But  it's  a  pity  you  could  not  read  all  there  was  in 
this  young  woman's  face,  for  it  was  certainly  plain  enough. 
At  this  rate  you  will  be  asking  our  burly  landlord  to  un- 
bosom himself,  insisting  that  he  has  a  'silent  sorrow'  tucked 
away  somewhere  under  his  ample  waistcoat." 

"His  troubles,  like  yours,  are  banished  by  the  dinner 
hour.  I  recognize  your  feeble  witticism  about  her  plain 
face,  and  forgive  you  because  /  thought  it  plain  also  at 
first,  but  when  she  came  to  speak  and  smile  it  ceased  to  be 
plain.  I  do  not  say  she  has  had  trouble,  but  she  has  had 
some  experience  in  her  past  history  which  neither  you  nor  I 
could  understand." 

"Quite  likely;  the  measles,  for  instance,  which  I  never 
had  to  my  knowledge.  Possibly  she  has  had  a  lover  who 
was  not  long  in  finding  a  prettier  face,  and  so  left  her, 
but  not  so  disconsolate  that  she  could  not  smile  bewilder- 
ingly  upon  you." 

"Come  now,  Stanton,  I'll  forewarn  and  forearm  you.  I 
confidently  predict  that  the  voice  of  this  brown  thrush  will 
lure  you  out  of  a  life  which,  to  put  it  mildly,  is  a  trifle  mat- 
ter-of-fact and  material.  You  have  glanced  at  her,  but  you 
have  not  seen  her  yet.  Mark  my  words;  your  appetite  will 
flag  before  many  weeks  pass. ' ' 

"I  wish  I  could  pin  you  down  to  a  large  wager  on  this 
absurdity." 

"I  agree  to  paint  you  a  picture  if  my  prediction  fails." 

ktAnd  to  finish  it  within  a  natural  lifetime?"  said  Stan- 
ton, with  much  animation. 

"To  finish  as  promptly  as  good  work  can  be  done." 


ANOTHER    FEMININE   PROBLEM  69 

"Pardon  me,  Van.  Yon  had  too  much  wine  for  dinner; 
I  don't  want  to  take  advantage  of  you." 

"1  did  not  have  any." 

"In  order  to  carry  out  this  transaction  honestly,  am  I 
expected  to  make  conscious  and  patient  effort  to  come  under 
the  influence  of  this  maiden  in  brown,  who  has  had  some 
mysterious  complaint  in  the  past,  about  which  'neither  you, 
nor  I,  nor  nobody  knows,'  as  the  poet  saith;  or,  like  the  an- 
cient mariner,  will  she  'hold  me  with  her  glittering  eye'  ?" 

"Fou  have  only  to  jog  on  in  your  old  ways  until  she 
wakes  you  up  and  makes  a  man  of  you." 

"1  surely  am  dreaming;  for  never  did  the  level-headed 
Van  Berg  talk  such  arrant  noosense  before.  If  she  seems 
to  you  such  a  marvel,  why  don't  you  open  your  own  month 
and  let  the  ripe  cherry  drop  into  it." 

"One  reason  will  answer,  were  there  no  others — she 
wouldn't  drop.  If  you  ever  win  her,  my  boy,  you  will 
have  to  bestir  yourself." 

"I'd  rather  win  the  picture.  Let  me  see — I  know  the 
very  place  in  my  room  where  I  shall  hang  it." 

"You  are  a  little  premature.  That  chicken  is  not  yet 
hatched,  and  you  may  feel  like  hanging  yourself  in  the 
place  of  the   picture   before  the   summer  is  over." 

"Let  me  wrap  your  head  in  ice- water,  Van.  There's 
mine  host— oh,  Mr.  Burleigh!"  he  cried  to  the  landlord, 
who  at  that  moment  happened  to  cross  the  piazza;  "please 
step  here.  My  friend  Mr.  Van  Berg  has  been  strangely  fas* 
cinated  by  the  stranger  in  brown  whom  you,  with  some  deep 
and  malicious  design,  placed  opposite  to  him  at  the  table. 
What  are  her  antecedents,  and  who  are  her  uncles?  I  take 
a  friendly  interest  in  this  young  man.  Indeed,  I'm  sort  of 
a  guardian  angel  to  him,  having  saved  his  life  many  a  time." 

"Saved  his  life!"  ejaculated  the  landlord.     "How?" 

"By  quenching  his  consuming  genius  with  good  dinners. 
But  come — solve  for  me  this  riddle  in  brown.  My  friend 
usually  gives  but  little  heed  to  the  feminine  conundrums 
that  smilingly  ask  to  be  answered,  but  for  some  occult  rea* 


70  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

son  lie  is  in  a  state  of  sleepless  interest  over  this  one,  and  I 
know  that  his  waistcoat  is  swelling  with  gratitude  to  me  for 
having  the  courage  to  ask  these  questions." 

"He  is  speaking  several  words  for  himself  to  one  for  me," 
said  Van  Berg;  "and  yet  I  admit  that  her  face  and  manner 
struck  me  very  pleasantly." 

"Well,  she  has  a  pleasant  little  phiz,  now,  hasn't  she, 
Mr.  Van  Berg?  I  don't  wonder  Mr.  Stanton  was  taken  by 
her,  for  I  was  myself.  It's  but  little  I  can  tell  you,  save 
that  she  is  a  teacher  in  one  of  the  New  England  female  col- 
leges, and  that  she  brings  letters  to  me  from  the  most  re- 
spectable parties,  who  introduce  her  as  a  lady  in  the  best 
sense  of  the  word.  Further  than  that  nothing  was  written, 
nor  do  I  know  anything  concerning  her.  But  any  one  who 
can't  see  that  she's  a  perfect  lady  is  no  judge  of  the  article." 
"I  will  stake  any  amount  on  that,  basing  my  belief  only 
on  the  first  impression  of  one  interview,"  added  Van  Berg, 
decidedly. 

11  You  now  see  how  deeply  my  friend  is  impressed,"  said 
Stanton,  with  a  satirical  smile.  "Thanks,  Mr.  Burleigh;  we 
will  not  detain  you  any  longer." 

When  alone  again,  he  resumed,  with  an  expression  of 
disgust: 

"A  'New  England  female  college!'  How  aptly  he  words 
it.  If  there's  any  region  on  the  face  of  the  earth  that  I  de- 
test, it's  New  England;  and  if  there  is  one  type  of  women 
that  I'd  shun  as  I  would  'ever  angry  bears,'  it's  a  New  Eng- 
land school-ma'am." 

"  'But  if  thy  flight  lay  toward  the  raging  sea'  of  a  rest- 
less, all-absorbing  passion,  'Thou'dst  meet  the  bear  i'  the 
mouth,'  as  you  will  try  to  in  this  case.  You  will  be  ready 
to  barter  your  ears  for  a  kiss  before  very  long." 

"It  will  be  after  they  have  grown  prodigiously  long  and 
hairy  in  some  transformation  scene  like  that  in  which  the 
immortal  Bottom  was  the  victim." 

"Your  illustration  tells  against  you,  for  it  was  only  after 
his  appropriate  transformation  that  Bottom  saw  the  fairy 


ANOTHER    FEMININE   PROBLEM  71 

queen;  but  in  your  case  the  desire  to  'munch'  will  be 
banished." 

"Come,  Van,  we  have  had  enough  chaff  on  this  topic, 
already  worn  threadbare.  I  now  know  all  about  the  mys- 
terious complaint,  the  impress  of  which  on  the  face  of  the 
school-ma'am  has  so  dazed  you.  It's  a  New  England  fe- 
male college — a  place  where  they  give  a  razor-like  edge  to 
the  wits  of  Yankee  women,  already  too  sharp,  and  develop 
in  attenuated  maidens  the  hatchet  faces  of  their  sires.  You 
may  as  well  set  about  that  picture  at  once,  whenever  you  feel 
in  the  mood  for  work." 

"I  admit  that  I  have  been  speaking  nonsense,  and  yet 
you  may  find  many  grains  of  truth  in  my  chaff,  neverthe- 
less." 

"But  is  my  picture  to  end  in  chaff?" 

"I  will  stand  by  my  promise.  If  I  lose,  perhaps  I'll 
paint  you  the  school-ma'am's  portrait." 

"Then  we  would  both  lose,  for  I  would  have  no  earthly 
use  for  that." 

14  Well,  I  will  paint  what  you  wish,  within  reason." 

"I'm  content,  and  with  good  reason,  for  never  did  I  have 
such  absurd  good  luck  before." 

"Ha!  look  yonder — quick!" 

Both  the  young  men  started  to  their  feet,  but  before 
they  could  spring  forward,  the  event,  which  had  so  sud- 
denly aroused  them,  was  an  accomplished  fact. 

Both  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  as  they  look  at  each 
other,  and  Van  Berg  remarked,  with  some  emphasis: 

"Act  first,  scene  first,  and  it  does  not  open  like  a  comedy 
either." 


72  A  FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER   VIII 

GLIMPSES   OF   TRAGEDY 

STANTON  threw  away  his  half- burned  cigar — an  act 
which  proved  him  strongly  moved — and  strode  rap- 
idly toward  the  main  entrance  near  which  a  little 
group  had  already  gathered,  and  among  the  others,  Ida 
Mayhew.  Not  a  hair  of  anybody's  head  was  hurt,  but  an 
event  had  almost  occurred  which  would  have  more  than 
satisfied  Stanton's  spite  against  'Yankee  school-ma'ams,' 
and  would  also  have  made  him  very  miserable  for  months 
to  come. 

He  had  ordered  his  bays  to  the  further  end  of  the  piazza 
where  they  were  smoking,  as  he  proposed  to  take  Van  Berg 
out  for  a  drive.  His  coachman  liked  to  wheel  around  the 
corner  of  the  hotel  and  past  the  main  entrance  in  a  dashing 
showy  style,  and  thus  far  had  suffered  no  rebuke  from  his 
master  for  the  habit.  But  on  this  occasion  a  careless  nur- 
sery maid,  neglectful  of  her  charge,  had  left  a  little  child  to 
toddle  to  the  centre  of  the  carriage  drive  and  there  it  had 
stood,  balancing  itself  with  the  uncertain  footing  character- 
istic of  first  steps.  Even  if  it  oould  have  seen  the  rapidly 
approaching  carriage  that  was  hidden  by  the  angle  of  the 
building,  its  baby  feet  could  not  have  carried  it  out  of 
harm's  way  in  time,  and  it  is  more  than  probable  that  its 
inexperience  wculd  have  prevented  any  sense  of  danger. 

But  help  was  at  hand  in  the  person  of  one  who  never 
seemed  so  preoccupied  with  self  as  to  lose  an  opportunity  to 
serve  others. 

Two  of  the  ladies,  who  had  casually  formed  Miss  Bur- 


GLIMPSES    OF    TRAGEDY  73 

ton's  acquaintance  at  dinner,  still  lingered  in  the  doorway 
to  talk  with  her,  wondering  in  the  meantime  why  they  re- 
mained so  long,  and  meaning  to  break  away  every  moment, 
but  the  expression  of  the  young  lady's  eyes  was  so  pleasant, 
and  her  manner,  more  than  anythiDg  she  said,  so  like  spring 
sunshine  that  they  were  still  standing  in  the  doorway  when 
the  rumble  and  rush  of  the  carriage  was  heard.  The  others 
did  not  notice  these  sounds,  but  Miss  Burton,  whose  eyes 
had  been  following  the  child  with  an  amused  interest,  sud- 
denly broke  off  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence,  listened  a  second, 
then  swiftly  springing  down  the  steps,  darted  toward  the 
child. 

Quick  as  she  had  been  it  seemed  as  if  she  would  be  too 
late,  for,  with  cries  of  horror,  the  startled  ladies  on  the 
piazza  saw  the  horses  coming  so  rapidly  that  it  appeared 
that  both  the  maiden  and  the  child  must  be  trampled  under 
their  feet.  And  so  they  would  have  been,  had  Miss  Burton 
sought  to  snatch  up  the  child  and  return,  but  with  rare  pres- 
ence of  mind  she  carried  the  child  across  the  carriage  track 
to  its  further  side,  thus  making  the  most  of  the  impetus 
with  which  she  had  rushed  to  the  rescue. 

The  exclamations  of  the  ladies  drew  many  eyes  to  the 
scene,  and  all  held  their  breath  as  the  horses  dashed  past, 
the  driver  vainly  endeavornig  to  pull  them  up  in  time. 
Having  passed,  even  Stanton  was  compelled  to  admit  that 
the  "school-ma'am"  appeared  to  very  great  advantage  as 
she  stood  panting,  and  with  heightened  color,  holding  in 
her  arms  the  laughing  child  that  seemed  to  think  that  the 
whole  excitement  was  created  for  its  amusement.  She  was 
about  to  restore  the  child  to  its  nurse  quietly,  who  now  came 
bustling  up  with  many  protestations,  when  she  was  arrested 
by  a  loud  voice  exclaiming: 

"Don't  let  that  hateful  creature  touch  my  child  again — 

give  him  to  me,"  and  a  lady,  who  had  been  drawn  to  the 

scene  by  the  outcry,  ran  down  the  steps,  and  snatching  the 

child,  almost  devoured  him  with  kisses.     Then,  turning  to 

the  trembling  nurse,  she  said,  harshly: 

4 — Roe — XII 


74  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 

"Begone;  I  never  wish  to  see  your  face  again.  Had  it 
not  been  for  this  lady,  my  child  would  have  been  killed 
through  your  carelessness.     Excuse  me,  Miss — Miss — " 

"Miss  Burton,"  said  the  young  lady,  quietly. 

"Excuse  my  show  of  feeling;  but  you  can't  realize  the 
service  you  have  done  us.  Bertie  is  our  only  child,  and  we 
just  idolize  him.     I'm  so  agitated,  I  must  go  to  my  room." 

When  the  lady  had  disappeared,  Miss  Burton  turned  to 
the  sobbing  nurse  and  said: 

"Will  you  promise  me  to  be  careful  in  the  future  if  I 
intercede  for  you  ?" 

"Dade,  Miss,  an'  I  will." 

"Come  to  me,  then,  after  supper.  In  the  meantime  re- 
main where  your  mistress  can  summon  you  should  she  need 
your  services,  or  be  inclined  to  forgive  you  of  her  own  ac- 
cord," and  leaving  the  crude  and  offending  jumble  of  hu- 
manity much  comforted,  she  returned  to  the  piazza  again. 

Of  course  many  pressed  around  her  with  congratulations 
and  words  of  commendation.  Van  Berg  was  much  inter- 
ested in  observing  how  she  would  receive  this  sudden  gush 
of  mingled  honest  praise  and  extravagant  flattery,  for  he 
recognized  that  the  occasion  would  prove  a  searching  and 
delicate  test  of  character  for  which  there  was  no  time  to 
prepare.  She  did  not  listen  to  their  words  with  a  depreca- 
tory smirk,  nor  with  the  pained  expression  of  those  sensi- 
tive souls  to  whom  hearty  words  and  demonstrations  are 
like  rough  winds;  nor  was  there  a  trace  of  exultation  and 
self-complacency  in  her  bearing.  Van  Berg  thought  that 
her  manner  was  peculiarly  her  own,  for  she  looked  into  the 
faces  around  her  with  frank  gladness,  and  her  unconscious- 
ness of  herself  can  be,  perhaps,  best  suggested  by  her  own 
words. 

"How  fortunate  it  was,"  she  said,  "that  I  stood  where  I 
did,  and  happened  to  be  looking  at  the  child.  If  somebody 
had  not  been  at  hand  it  might  have  gone  hard  with  the  lit- 
tle fellow.  Not  that  I  think  he  would  have  been  killed, 
but  he  might  have  been  maimed  or  disfigured  in  a  way  that 


GLIMPSES    OF    TRAGEDY  75 

would  have  caused  him  pain  and  mortification  all  his 
life." 

11  Miss  Burton,  I  take  off  my  hat  to  you,"  said  Van  Berg, 
laughing.  "Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  hope  you  all  appreci- 
ate the  force  of  Miss  Burton's  phrase,  'somebody,'  since  it 
implies  that  any  one  of  us  would  have  shown  like  courage 
and  presence  of  mind  if  we  had  only  been  'at  hand,'  or  had 
stood  where  she  did.  Keally,  Miss  Burton,  you  are  like 
smiling  fortune,  and  'thrust  upon'  us  'greatness'  and 
heroism. ' ' 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  you  are  laughing  at  me,  and  your  quo- 
tation suggests  that  other  Shakesperian  words  are  in  your 
mind — to  wit,  'much  ado  about  nothing.'  Now  if  you  had 
had  the  opportunity  you  would  have  achieved  the  rescue  in 
a  way  that  would  have  been  heroic  and  striking.  Instead 
of  scrambling  out  of  the  way  with  the  child,  like  a  timid 
woman,  you  would  have  rushed  upon  the  horses,  seized 
them  by  their  heads,  thrown  them  back  upon  their  haunches, 
and  while  posing  in  that  masterful  attitude,  you  would  have 
called  out  in  stentorian  tones — 'Remove  the  child.' 

All  laughed  at  this  unexpected  sally,  and  no  one  enjoyed 
it  more  than  Stanton,  who,  a  little  before,  had  been  exces- 
sively angry  at  his  coachman,  and,  like  the  mother  of  the 
child,  had  summarily  dismissed  the  poor  fellow  from  his 
service.  Quite  forgetful  of  his  uncomplimentary  words 
concerning  'Yankee  schoolma'ams'  in  general,  and  this 
one  in  particular,  he  now  stood  near,  and  was  regarding 
her  not  only  with  approval  but  with  admiration.  Her 
ready  reply  to  Van  Berg  pleased  him  exceedingly,  espe- 
cially as  the  rising  color  in  the  face  of  his  self-possessed 
friend  indicated  a  palpable  hit.  But  the  artist  was  equal 
to  the  occasion,  and  quickly  replied  as  one  who  had  felt 
a  slight  spur. 

"I  fear  you  are  in  part  correct,  Miss  Burton.  Instead  of 
deftly  saving  the  child  and  taking  both  it  and  myself  out 
of  harm's  way,  after  your  quiet  womanly  fashion,  I  should, 
no  doubt,  have  'rushed  upon  the  horses  and  seized  them  by 


76  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

their  heads. '  But  I  fear  your  striking  tableau,  in  which  I 
appeared  to  such  advantage,  would  have  been  wholly  want- 
ing. I  could  not  have  stopped  the  horses  in  time ;  the  child 
would  have  been  run  over  and  killed;  the  big,  fat  coroner 
would  have  come  and  sat  on  it  and  have  made  us  all,  who 
witnessed  the  scene,  swear  over  the  matter;  the  poor  mother 
would  have  gone  to  the  lunatic  asylum;  the  father  would 
have  committed  suicide;  the  nursery  maid  would  have — 
obtained  another  place  and  been  the  death  of  an  indefinite 
number  of  other  innocent  babes;  and  last,  but  not  least,  I 
should  have  been  dragged  and  trampled  upon,  my  legs  and 
arms  broken,  and  perhaps  my  head,  and  so  you  would  all 
have  had  to  take  care  of  me — and  you  know  a  cross  bear  is 
a  pleasanter  subject  than  a  sick  man." 

"Oh,  what  a  chapter  of  horrors  1"  exclaimed  several 
ladies  in  chorus. 

"Nevertheless,  we  would  have  been  equal  to  the  occa- 
sion, even  if  you  had  been  so  dreadfully  fractured,'1  said 
Miss  Burton.  "We  all  would  have  become  your  devoted 
nurses,  and  each  one  of  us  would  have  had  a  separate  and 
infallible  remedy,  which,  out  of  courtesy,  you  would  have 
been  compelled  to  use. ' ' 

"Oh,  bless  my  soul!"  exclaimed  Van  Berg,  "I  have  had 
a  greater  escape  than  the  child.  In  being  'at  hand'  as  you 
express  it,  Miss  Burton,  I  am  beginning  to  feel  that  you 
have  saved  me  from  death  by  torture." 

"What  a  compliment  to  us!"  said  Miss  Burton,  appeal- 
ing to  the  ladies;  "he  regards  our  ministrations  as  equiva- 
lent to  death  by  torture. ' ' 

"Oh,  pardon  me,  I  referred  to  the  numberless  'separate 
and  infallible  remedies,'  the  very  thought  of  which  curdles 
my  blood." 

"I  cannot  help  thinking  that  my  friend's  prospects  would 
have  been  very  dismal,"  put  in  Stanton;  "for  with  broken 
legs  and  arms  and  head  he  would  have  been  very  badly 
fractured  indeed  to  begin  with,  and  then  some  one  of  his 
fair  nurses  might  have  broken  his  heart." 


GLIMPSES    OF   TRAGEDY  77 

"My  friend  probably  thinks,  from  a  direful  experience," 
said  Van  Berg,  "that  this  would  be  worse  than  all  the  other 
fractures  together;  and  perhaps  it  would.  An  additional 
cause  for  gratitude,  Miss  Burton,  that  you,  and  not  I,  were 
'at  hand.'  " 

"My  reasons  for  gratitude  to  Miss  Burton,"  said  Stanton, 
"do  not  rest  on  what  undoubtedly  would  have  happened  had 
my  friend  attempted  the  rescue,  but  on  what  has  happened; 
and  if  Mr.  Van  Berg  will  introduce  me  I  will  cordially  ex- 
press my  thanks." 

"With  all  my  heart.  Miss  Burton,  permit  me  to  present 
to  you  Mr.  Stanton,  whose  only  fault  is  a  slight  monomania 
for  New  England  and  her  institutions." 

The  lady  recognized  Stanton  with  her  wonted  smiling 
and  pleasant  manner,  which  seemed  so  frank  and  open,  but 
behind  which  some  present  eventually  learned  the  real 
woman  was  hiding,  and  said: 

uIam  inclined  to  think  that  Mr.  Van  Berg's  English, 
like  Hebrew,  reads  backward.  I  warn  you,  Mr.  Stanton, 
not  to  express  any  indebtedness  to  me,  or  I  shall  straight- 
way exhibit  one  of  the  Yankee  traits  which  you  undoubtedly 
detest,  and  attempt  a  bargain. 

"Although  assured  that  I  shall  get  the  worst  of  this  bar- 
gain, I  shall  nevertheless  heartily  thank  you  that  you  were 
not  only  'at  hand,'  but  that  you  acted  so  promptly  and 
courageously  that  the  child  was  saved.  What  pleasure 
could  I  have  taken  with  my  horses  if  their  feet  had  tram- 
pled that  little  boy?" 

"I  see  my  opportunity,"  replied  Miss  Burton,  with  a 
decisive  little  nod.  "Your  afternoon  drives  might  have 
been  marred  by  unpleasant  thoughts  as  one's  sleep  is  some- 
times disturbed  by  bad  dreams.  You  have  no  idea  what  a 
delight  it  is  to  the  average  New  England  mind,  Mr.  Stan- 
ton, to  secure  the  vantage-ground  in  a  bargain.  In  view  of 
your  own  voluntary  admissions,  you  can  scarcely  do  other- 
wise than  let  me  have  my  own  way." 

With  the  exception  of  the  two  or  three  who  had  formed 


78  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

Miss  Burton's  acquaintance  at  dinner,  those  who  at  first  had 
gathered  around  her  had  by  this  time  dwindled  away.  Ida 
Mayhew  sat  near  in  an  open  window  of  the  parlor,  ostensibly 
reading  a  novel,  but  in  reality  observant  of  all  that  occurred. 
Both  she  and  Van  Berg  had  been  amused  by  the  fact  that 
Stanton,  usually  so  languid  and  nonchalant,  had  been  for 
once  thoroughly  aroused.  Between  anger  at  his  coachman, 
alarm  for  the  child,  and  interest  in  its  preserver,  he  was 
quite  shaken  out  of  his  wonted  equanimity,  which  was  com- 
posed equally  of  indolent  good-nature,  self-complacency, 
and  a  disposition  to  satirize  the  busy,  earnest  world  around 
him.  It  was  apparent  that  he  was  somewhat  nonplussed  by 
Miss  Burton's  manner  and  words,  and  those  who  knew  him 
well  enjoyed  his  perplexity,  although  at  a  loss  themselves 
to  imagine  what  object  Miss  Burton  could  have  in  view. 
Half  unconsciously  Van  Berg  turned  his  smiling,  interested 
face  toward  Ida  Mayhew,  who  was  regarding  her  cousin 
with  a  similar  expression,  but  the  moment  she  caught  the 
artist's  eyes  she  coldly  dropped  her  own  to  her  book  again. 

11  Well,  Miss  Burton,"  said  Stanton,  with  a  slightly  em- 
barrassed laugh,  "I  admit  that  I  am  cornered,  so  you  can 
make  your  own  terms. ' ' 

"They  shall  be  grievous,  I  assure  you.  Do  you  see  that 
rueful  face  in  your  carriage  yonder  ?' ' 

"That  of  my  coachman?  Bad  luck  to  his  ill-omened 
visage!     Yes." 

"No  need  of  wishing  bad  luck  to  any  poor  creature — it 
will  come  only  too  soon  without.  In  view  of  the  indebted- 
ness—which you  have  so  gracefully  acknowledged — to  one 
of  that  trading  and  thrifty  race  that  never  loses  an  opportu- 
nity to  turn,  if  not  a  penny  more  or  less  honest,  why,  some- 
thing else,  to  their  advantage,  I  stipulate  that  you  give  your 
dependant  there  another  chance.  I  heard  you  dismiss  him 
from  your  service  a  short  time  since,  and  he  evidently  does 
not  wish  to  go.  His  disconsolate  face  troubles  me;  so  please 
banish  his  dismal  looks,  and  he'll  be  more  careful  hereafter. " 

"And  have  you  had  time  to  see  and  think  about  him?" 


GLIMPSES    OF    TRAGEDY  79 

said  Stanton,  with  a  little  surprise  in  his  tone.  "You  shall 
banish  his  dismal  looks  yourself.  Barney,"  he  called, 
"drive  close  to  the  piazza  here.  This  lady  has  probably 
saved  you  from  arrest,  and  she  now  intercedes  in  your 
behalf.  In  compliance  with  her  request,  I  will  keep  you 
in  my  service,  but  I  wish  you  to  thank  her  and  not  me." 

Barney  took  off  his  hat  and  ejaculated:  "May  yees  shad- 
der  niver  grow  less,  me  leddy,  an'  may  the  Powers  grant 
that  yees  bright  eyes  may  see  no  trouble  o'  their  own,  bam 
they're  so  quick  to  see  a  poor  man's  bad  luck." 

The  smiling  manner  with  which  she  acknowledged  his 
good  wishes  seemed  to  warm  the  man  all  over,  and  he  looked 
as  if  transformed  as  he  drove  back  to  his  stand. 

ltHow  is  this,  Miss  Burton?"  said  Stanton.  "I  feel  as 
if  I  had  had  the  best  of  this  bargain." 

"That  impression  is  wholly  due  to  my  Yankee  shrewd- 
ness; and  now,  having  gained  my  point,"  she  added,  with 
a  graceful  inclination,  "I  will  not  keep  you  from  your  drive 
any  longer." 

"My  conscience  will  not  permit  me  to  complete  this 
transaction  until  I  have  assured  you  that  my  horses  and 
carriage  are  at  your  service  at  any  time." 

"Be  careful;  I  may  take  advantage  of  you  again." 

"Please  do  so,"  replied  Stanton,  lifting  his  hat;  and 
then  he  went  to  his  carriage  more  surprised  at  himself  than 
at  anything  else  that  had  occurred.  Miss  Burton  returned 
to  the  doorway  and  quietly  resumed  the  conversation  that 
had  been  interrupted  by  the  peril  of  the  child. 

Van  Berg  was  about  to  follow  his  friend,  but  an  ac- 
quaintance coming  up  the  steps  detained  him  a  few 
moments. 

"Oh,  Harold,  come!"  cried  Stanton,   impatiently. 

Miss  Burton  started  violently.  The  sentence  upon  her 
lips  was  never  finished,  and  her  face  became  ashen  in  its 
color.  She  looked  at  Van  Berg  with  a  strange  expression 
as  he,  unconscious  of  her  agitation,  answered: 

"Yes,  I'm  coming,"  and  moved  away. 


80  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"My  dear  Miss  Burton,"  said  the  lady  with  whom  she 
was  speaking,  "you  are  ill;  you  look  ready  to  faint.  This 
excitement  has  been  a  greater  strain  upon  you  than  you 
have  realized." 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  go  to  my  room,"  faltered  the 
young  lady;  and  she  fled  with  a  precipitancy  that  her 
companion  could  not  understand. 

Ida  Mayhew  also  witnessed  this  unexpected  bit  of  mys- 
tery, and  it  puzzled  her  not  a  little.  She  had  left  the  parlor 
and  was  standing  in  the  hallway  when  her  cousin's  voice 
summoned  his  friend  after  his  familiar  fashion.  Why 
should  this  stranger  look  at  Mr.  Van  Berg  as  if  the  sound 
of  his  Christian  name  were  a  mortal  wound  ?  Or  was  that 
a  mere  coincidence — and  in  reaction  from  excitement  and 
unwonted  effort  had  she  been  suddenly  taken  ill  ?  For  a 
wonder,  she  thought  more  about  Miss  Burton  than  herself 
that  afternoon.  She  had  decided  from  the  first  that  she  did 
not  like  this  new-comer.  That  point  had  been  settled  by 
the  fact  that  the  artist's  first  impressions  concerning  her 
had  evidently  been  favorable,  and  she  remembered  that  his 
earliest  glances  and  words  in  regard  to  herself  had  been 
anything  but  complimentary. 


UNEXPECTEDLY  THROWN    TOGETHER  81 


CHAPTER   IX 

UNEXPECTEDLY   THROWN   TOGETHER 

"  I  SUPPOSE  you  are  satisfied  by  this  time,  Stanton,"  be- 
gan Van  Berg,  as  they  drove  away,  "that  I  was  very 
*  safe  in  offering  you  that  picture  on  the  conditions 
named,  and  that  you  have  not  the  ghost  of  a  chance  of 
obtaining  it." 

"Nonsense,"  replied  Stanton.  "The  picture  is  practi- 
cally won  already.  I  admit  that  Miss  Burton  is  an  excep- 
tion to  all  her  species;  and,  now  that  I  have  seen  her,  I 
prove  how  little  I  am  under  the  influence  of  prejudice  by 
acknowledging  the  fact,  and  by  giving  her  credit  for  her 
courage  and  agreeable  manners.  But  how  absurd  to  imagine 
that  this  plain  little  stranger  can  ever  be  to  me  more  than 
she  is  to-day — a  summer  acquaintance  at  a  summer  resort! 
She  will  soon  drop  from  our  memories  and  leave  no  more 
trace  than  these  rustling  leaves  overhead  after  they  have 
fulfilled  their  brief  purpose. ' ' 

"Here's  a  symptom  already,"  cried  Van  Berg.  "My 
matter-of-fact  friend  is  already  in  the  subtle  current,  and 
unconsciously  drops  into  sentiment,  and  expresses  himself 
in  poetic  trope.  I  foresee  that  the  'rustling  leaves'  will  end 
in  a  rustling  wedding-robe  and  gorgeous  apparel;  for  when 
you  cage  the  'brown  thrush'  you  will  have  the  bad  taste  to 
insist  on  a  change  of  plumage." 

"I  begin  to  understand  you  at  last,"  retorted  Stanton. 
"You  have  been  smitten  yourself,  and  this  is  your  strategy 
to  conceal  the  fact.  The  trouble  is  that  you  have  overdone 
the  matter,  and  revealed  your  transfixed  heart  long  before 
I  should  have  suspected  the  wound.     Had  you  not  better 


82  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

commence  on  the  picture  soon,  for  this  matter  may  disable 
you  for  a  season?" 

"I  won't  swear  that  I  will  not  become  your  rival,  for  our 
little  heroine  interests  me  hugely.  There  is  something  back 
of  her  smiling  face.  Her  manner  seems  like  crystal  in  its 
frankness,  and  yet  I  think  few  in  the  house  will  ever  become 
better  acquainted  with  her  than  they  are  to-day." 

"I  shall  take  more  than  a  languid  interest  in  watching 
your  progress  with  this  smiling  sphinx,"  said  Stanton,  "and 
in  the  meantime  shall  gloat  over  my  picture." 

"Well,  Barney,"  said  Van  Berg,  as  they  drove  up  to  the 
stables  on  their  return,  "you  did  have  a  streak  of  good  luck 
this  afternoon.  I  hope  you  are  grateful  to  the  lady  who 
secured  it  for  you. ' ' 

"Faix,  sur,  an'  I  niver  seed  the  likes  o'  her  afore.  The 
smilin'  look  she  gave  me  jist  warmed  the  very  core  o'  me 
heart,  and  her  swate  eyes  seemed  to  say,  'Nary  a  bit  o'  ill- 
luck  would  ye  have  again,  Barney,  had  I  me  way.'  What's 
more,  she's  a-goin'  to  intercade  for  the  nurse-maid.  They 
nadn't  tell  me  that  all  the  heretics  will  stay  in  purgatory." 

"Look  here,  Stanton,  were  I  a  theologian  I'd  make  a 
note  of  that.  Miss  Burton  has  discovered  a  logic  that  routs 
superstition." 

Van  Berg  quite  longed  for  the  supper  hour,  that  he 
might  resume  conversation  with  the  interesting  stranger, 
and  he  was  promptly  in  his  place  at  the  table.  But  she  did 
not  appear.  The  lady  with  whom  she  had  been  conversing 
remarked: 

"She  was  taken  suddenly  ill,  just  as  you  and  your  friend 
drove  away  this  afternoon.  Learning  from  Mr.  Burleigh 
that  she  is  here  alone  and  without  friends,  1  knocked  at 
her  door  before  I  came  down,  and  asked  if  I  could  do 
anything  for  her.  She  said  that  she  would  be  better  in  the 
morning,  and  that  all  she  needed  was  perfect  quiet.  It's 
strange  how  suddenly  she  was  taken  ill !  She  seemed  per- 
fectly well  one  moment,  and  the  next  looked  as  startled 
and  pale  as  if  she  saw  a  ghost;  and  then  she  fled  to  her 


UNEXPECTEDLY  THROWN    TOGETHER  83 

room  as  if  the  ghost  were  in  pursuit.  I  suppose  it  was  re- 
action from  excitement;  or  she  may  have  some  form  of 
heart  disease." 

"Are  heart  difficulties  so  serious  as  that  with  ladies?" 
asked  Van  Berg  with  a  smile. 

"I  never  had  acute  symptoms  of  any  kind,"  the  lady 
replied.  "Indeed  I  think  I  am  a  trifle  cold  and  matter-of- 
fact  in  my  disposition,  but  I  began  to  thaw  so  perceptibly 
under  Miss  Burton's  influence  that  I  became  quite  interested 
in  her.  I  think  I  deserve  some  credit  for  saving  the  child 
also,  for  it  was  I  who  kept  her  talking  in  the  doorway. 
Most  people  are  a  weariness  to  me,  and  I  was  surprised  to 
find  so  marked  an  exception." 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Van  Berg's  interest  in  the 
new  arrival  had  led  him  to  forget  the  motive  which  had 
brought  him  to  the  Lake  House.  This  would  not  be  in  ac- 
cordance with  his  character,  and  as  far  as  possible  he  had 
been  closely  observant  of  Miss  Mayhew  during  the  scenes  of 
the  afternoon.  He  had  been  rewarded  by  discovering,  for 
the  first  time,  that  she  was  at  least  capable  of  a  good  and  gen- 
erous impulse,  for  her  face  had  been  expressive  of  genuine 
admiration  and  gladness  when  she  saw  Miss  Burton  with  the 
rescued  child  in  her  arms  after  the  aarriage  swept  by.  In 
this  expression  he  obtained  a  clearer  hint  than  he  had  ever 
before  received  of  the  beauty  that  might  be  her  constant 
possession  could  the  mean  and  marring  traits  of  her  char- 
acter be  exchanged  for  qualities  in  harmony  with  hep 
perfect  features.  But  while  this  gleam,  this  flash  of  ideal 
beauty  increased  his  desire  for  success  in  his  experiment, 
the  young  lady's  bearing  toward  him  was  as  discouraging 
as  ever.  If  he  had  not  been  at  Miss  Burton's  side,  he  be- 
lieved that  she  would  have  come  forward  and  offered  her 
congratulations  as  had  several  other  ladies.  It  would  seem 
that  her  vanity  had  been  so  severely  wounded  she  would 
never  forgive  him,  and  he  determined  he  would  no  longer 
make  a  martyr  of  himself  by  playing  the  agreeable  to  all 
in  the  hotel  in  the  hope  that,  by  pouring  so  much  oil  on 


84  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

the  waters,  even  her  asperity  might  be  removed.  He  half 
believed  that  she  recognized  his  effort  to  form  her  acquaint- 
ance, and  fouDd  a  malicious  pleasure  in  thwarting  him. 
Therefore,  he  decided  to  take  his  sketch-book  and  go  off 
upon  the  hills  in  the  morning,  thus  enjoying  a  little  respite 
from  his  apparently  philanthropic  labors. 

Before  he  left  the  breakfast- table  the  following  day,  Miss 
Burton  appeared.  He  thought  he  detected  an  ominous  red- 
ness about  her  eyes,  as  well  as  the  pallor  which  would  be 
the  natural  result  of  illness;  but  she  seeemd  to  have  fully 
recovered  her  spirits,  and  the  rather  quiet  and  self-absorbed 
little  group  that  had  hitherto  seriously  devoted  themselves 
to  steak  and  coffee,  speedily  brightened  up  under  her  pleas- 
antries. Indeed  she  kept  them  lingering  so  long  that  the 
Mayhews  and  Stanton  passed  out  before  them,  the  latter 
casting  a  wistful  look  at  the  cheerful  party,  for  he  had 
been  having  a  stupid  time. 

When,  much  later  than  he  expected,  he  started  on  his 
brief  sketching  excursion  he  found  that  his  mind  was 
kindled  and  aglow  with  pleasant  thoughts,  and  that  the 
summer  landscape  had  been  made  sunnier  by  the  sunny 
face  he  had  just  left. 

But  as  he  plodded  his  way  back  late  in  the  forenoon, 
the  sunbeams,  no  longer  genial,  became  oppressive,  and  he 
was  glad  to  hail  one  of  the  hotel  stages  that  was  returning 
from  a  neighboring  village. 

The  vehicle  already  contained  two  adult  passengers.  One 
was  a  stout,  red-faced  woman  with  a  baby  and  an  indefinite 
number  of  parcels,  and  the  other  was — Ida  Mayhew,  who 
was  returning  from  a  brief  shopping  excursion. 

As  the  latter  saw  Van  Berg  enter  she  colored,  bit  her 
lip,  half  frowned,  and  looked  steadfastly  away  from  him. 
Thus  the  stage  lumbered  on  with  its  oddly  assorted  in- 
mates, that,  although  belonging  to  the  same  human  family, 
seemed  to  have  as  little  in  common  as  if  each  had  come 
from  a  different  planet.  That  Miss  Mayhew  looked  so  reso- 
lutely away  from  him  was  rather  to  Van  Berg's  advantage, 


UNEXPECTEDLY   THROWN    TOGETHER  85 

for  it  gave  him  a  chance  to  compare  her  exquisite  profile 
with  the  expanse,  slightly  diversified,  of  the  broad  red  face 
opposite. 

The  stout  woman  held  her  baby  as  if  it  were  a  bundle, 
and  stared  straight  before  her.  As  far  as  Van  Berg  could 
observe,  not  a  trace  of  an  idea  or  a  change  of  expression 
flitted  across  the  wide  area  of  her  sultry  visage,  and  he 
found  himself  speculating  as  to  whether  the  minds  of  these 
two  women  differed  as  greatly  as  their  outward  appearance. 
Indeed  he  questioned  whether  one  had  any  more  mind  than 
the  other,  and  was  inclined  to  think  that  despite  their  widely 
separated  spheres  in  life  they  were  equally  dwarfed. 

While  he  was  thus  amusing  himself  with  the  contrasts, 
physical  and  metaphysical,  which  the  two  passengers  oppo- 
site him  presented,  the  stout  woman  suddenly  looked  out 
of  the  window  at  her  side,  and  then,  in  a  tone  that  would 
startle  the  quietest  nerves,  shouted  to  the  driver: 

-Hold  on!" 

Miss  May  hew  half  rose  from  her  seat  and  looked  arouod 
with  something  like  dismay;  but  as  she  only  encountered 
Van  Berg's  slightly  humorous  expression,  she  colored  more 
deeply  than  before,  and  recalled  her  eyes  to  the  further 
angle  of  the  stage  with  a  fixedness  and  rigidity  as  great  as 
if  it  had  contained  the  head  of  Medusa. 

Meantime  the  driver  drew  up  to  a  small  cottage  by  the 
roadside,  and  scrambled  down  from  his  seat  that  he  might 
assist  the  stout  woman  with  her  accumulation  of  bundles. 
She  handed  him  out  the  baby,  preferring  to  look  after  the 
more  precious  parcels  herself.  Van  Berg  politely  held  the 
door  open  for  her;  but  just  as  she  was  squeezing  through 
the  stage  entrance  with  her  arms  full  and  had  her  foot  on 
the  last  step,  her  cottage  door  flew  open  with  something 
of  the  effect  of  an  explosion,  and  out  burst  three  or  four 
children  with  a  perfect  din  of  cries  and  shouts.  Two  vocif- 
erous dogs  joined  in  the  sudden  uproar;  the  hitherto  drowsy 
horses  started  as  if  a  bomb-shell  had  dropped  under  their 
noses,  and  speedily  broke  into  a  mad  gallop,   leaving  the 


86  A   FACE  ILLUMINED 

stout  woman  prostrate  upon  her  bundles  in  the  road,  ana 
the  driver  helplessly  holding  her  baby. 

Miss  May  hew 's  cold  rigidity  vanished  at  once.  Indeed 
dignity  was  impossible  in  the  swaying,  bounding  vehicle. 
There  was  a  momentary  effort  to  ignore  her  companion, 
and  then  terror  overcame  all  scruples.  Turning  her  white 
face  toward  him,  she  exclaimed: 

44  Are  we  not  in  great  danger  ?" 

"I  admit  I  would  rather  be  in  my  chair  on  Mr.  Burleigh's 
piazza.  With  your  permission,  I  will  come  to  your  end  of 
the  stage  and  speak  to  the  horses  through  the  open  window. ' ' 

"Oh,  come — do  anything  under  heaven  to  stop  these 
horrid  beasts." 

Van  Berg  edged  his  way  up  a  little  past  Miss  May  hew, 
and  began  speaking  to  the  frightened  horses  in  firm,  quiet 
tones.  At  first  they  paid  no  heed  to  him,  and  as  the  stage 
made  a  sudden  and  desperate  lurch,  the  young  lady  com- 
menced to  scream. 

4 'If  you  do  that  you  will  insure  the  breaking  of  both  our 
necks,"  said  Van  Berg,  sharply.  "If  you  will  keep  quiet 
I  think  I  can  stop  them.  See,  we  have  quite  a  stretch  of 
level  road  beyond  us,  before  we  come  to  a  hill.  Give  me 
a  chance  to  quiet  them." 

The  terror-stricken  girl  kept  still  for  a  moment,  and  then 
started  up,  saying: 

4 'I  shall  spring  out." 

44  No,  Miss  May  hew,  you  must  not  do  that,"  said  Van 
Berg,  decidedly.  44You  might  be  greatly  injured,  and  you 
would  with  almost  certainty  be  disfigured  for  life  if  you 
sprang  out  upon  the  stony  road.  You  could  not  help  fall- 
ing on  your  face." 

4 'Oh,  horrible!"  she  exclaimed. 

At  the  next  heavy  lurch  of  the  stage  she  half-rose  again 
to  carry  out  her  rash  purpose,  but  the  artist  seized  her  hand 
and  held  her  in  her  place,  at  the  same  time  speaking  kindly 
and  firmly  to  the  horses.  They  now  began  to  heed  his 
voice,  and  to  recover  from  their  panic. 


UNEXPECTEDLY   THROWN   TOGETHER  87 

"See,  Miss  May  hew,"  he  said,  "you  have  only  to  con- 
trol yourself  a  few  moments  longer,  and  our  danger  is 
over." 

"Oh,  do  stop  them,  quick,"  she  gasped,  clinging  to  his 
hand  as  if  he  were  her  only  hope,  "and  I'll  never  forget 
your  kind — oh,  merciful  heaven!" 

At  this  favorable  moment,  when  the  horses  were  fast 
coming  under  control,  a  spiteful  cur  came  tearing  out  after 
them,  renewing  their  panic  with  tenfold  intensity.  As  the 
dog  barked  on  one  side  they  sheered  off  on  the  other,  until 
they  pluoged  down  the  side  of  the  road.  The  stage  was 
nearly  overturned,  and  then  it  stopped  with  a  sudden  and 
heavy  thump.  Miss  May  hew  was  precipitated  into  Mr.  Van 
Berg's  arms,  and  she  clung  to  him  for  a  moment  in  a 
paroxysm  of  terror.  His  wits  had  not  so  far  deserted  him 
but  that  he  perceived  that  the  stage  had  struck  against 
a  tree,  that  the  horses  had  broken  away,  and  that  he  and 
his  companion  were  perfectly  safe.  If  the  whole  truth  must 
be  told,  it  cannot  be  said  that  he  endured  the  young  lady's 
embrace  with  only  cold  and  stoical  philosophy.  He  found 
it  a  wholly  novel  and  not  a  painful  experience.  Indeed  he 
was  conscious  of  a  temptation  to  delay  the  information  of 
their  escape,  but  a  second's  thought  taught  him  that  he  must 
at  once  employ  all  his  tact  in  the  delicate  and  difficult  task 
of  reconciling  the  frightened  girl  to  herself  and  to  her  own 
conduct;  otherwise  her  pride,  and  also  her  sense  of  delicacy, 
would  now  receive  a  new  and  far  deeper  wound,  and  a  more 
hopeless  estrangement  follow.  He  therefore  promptly  lifted 
her  up,  and  placed  her  limp  form  on  the  opposite  seat. 

"I  assure  you  we  are  now  perfectly  safe,  Miss  Mayhew," 
he  said;  "and  let  me  congratulate  you  that  your  self-control 
prevented  you  from  leaving  the  stage,  for  if  you  had  done  so 
you  would  undoubtedly  have  been  greatly  injured." 

"Where — where  are — the  horses?"  she  faltered. 

"I  really  do  not  know!  They  have  disappeared.  The 
stage  struck  a  tree,  and  the  brutes  broke  away.  They  will 
probably  gallop  home  to  the  alarm  and  excitement  of  every 


88  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

one  about  the  hotel.  Pray  compose  yourself.  The  house 
is  not  far  away,  and  we  can  soon  reach  it  if  you  are  not  very 
much  hurt." 

"Are  you  sure  the  danger  is  all  over?" 

"Yes;  there  is  now  not  the  slightest  chance  of  a  tragedy." 

There  must  have  been  a  faint  twinkle  in  his  eye,  for  she 
exclaimed,  passionately: 

"The  whole  thing  has  been  a  comedy  to  you,  and  I  half 
believe  you  brought  it  all  about  to  annoy  me." 

"You  do  me  great  injustice,  Miss  Mayhew,"  said  Van 
Berg,  warmly. 

"Here  we  are  sitting  in  this  horrid  old  stage  by  the 
roadside,"  she  resumed,  in  tones  of  strong  vexation. 
"Was  there  ever  anything  more  absurd  and  ridiculous 
than  it  has  all  been!  I  am  mortified  beyond  expression, 
and  suppose  I  shall  never  hear  the  last  of  it,"  and  she 
burst  into  a  hysterial  passion  of  tears. 

"Miss  Mayhew,"  said  Van  Berg  hastily,  "you  certainly 
must  realize  that  we  have  passed  through  very  great  peril 
together,  and  if  you  think  me  capable  of  saying  a  word 
about  this  episode  that  is  not  to  your  credit,  you  were 
never  more  mistaken  in  your  life." 

At  this  assurance  she  became  more  calm. 

"I  know  you  dislike  me  most  heartily,"  Van  Berg  con- 
tinued; "but  you  have  less  reason  to  do  so  than  you  think — " 

"I  have  good  reason  to  dislike  you.  You  despise  me; 
and  now  that  I  have  been  such  a  coward  you  are  comparing 
me  with  Miss  Burton,  who  acted  so  differently  yester- 
day." 

"I  have  not  even  thought  of  Miss  Burton,"  protested 
Van  Berg,  at  the  same  time  conscious,  now  that  her  name  had 
been  recalled  to  his  memory,  that  she  would  have  acted  a 
much  better  part.  "I  am  only  sincerely  glad  that  our  necks 
were  not  broken,  and  I  hope  that  you  have  not  suffered  any 
severe  bruises.  As  to  my  despising  you,  if  you  will  honor 
me  with  your  acquaintance  you  may  discover  that  you  are 
greatly  in  error." 


UNEXPECTEDLY  THROWN    TOGETHER  89 

"Then  you  truly  think  that  we  have  been  in  danger?" 
she  asked,  wiping  her  eyes. 

"Most  assuredly.  When  you  come  to  think  the  matter 
over  calmly,  you  will  realize  that  we  were  in  very  great 
danger.  1  think  the  affair  has  ended  most  happily  rather 
than  absurdly." 

"Keally,  sir,  when  I  remember  how  the  'affair,'  as  you 
term  it,  actually  did  end,  I  feel  as  if  I  never  wished  to  see 
you  again." 

"Miss  Mayhew,  I  appeal  to  your  generosity.  Was  I  to 
blame  for  that  which  was  so  disagreeable  to  you  ?  Surely 
you  will  not  be  so  unfair  as  to  punish  me  for  what  neither 
you  nor  I  could  help.  I  think  fate  means  we  shall  be 
friends,  and  has  employed  this  unexpected  episode  to 
break  the  ice  between  us.  If  you  are  now  sufficiently 
composed  I  will  assist  you  to  alight,  in  order  that  the 
driver,  who  is  approaching,  may  be  relieved  of  all  fears 
on  our  account." 

"Oh,  certainly.  As  it  is,  I  suppose  he  will  have  a 
ridiculous  story  to  tell." 

"There  is  nothing  that  he,  or  the  others  who  are  follow- 
ing him  can  tell,  save  that  the  horses  ran  away  and  that  we 
most  fortunately  escaped  all  injury.  Ah!  I  see  that  you 
are  a  little  lame.  Please  take  my  arm;  the  hotel  is  but  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away.  Or  perhaps  you  would  prefer  that 
I  should  send  the  driver  for  a  carriage.  You  could  wait  in 
yonder  cottage,  or  here,  in  the  shade  of  the  trees." 

ltI  am  not  very  lame,  and  if  I  were  I  would  not  mind  it. 
My  wish  is  that  the  horrid  affair  may  occasion  as  little  re- 
mark as  possible.  I  can  reach  my  room  by  a  side  entrance, 
and  so  come  quietly  down  to  dinner.  I  suppose  that  I  must 
take  your  arm  since  I  cannot  walk  very  well  without  it." 

They  therefore  turned  their  backs  on  the  breathless  driver 
and  his  eager  questions,  and  proceeded  slowly  toward  the 
hotel.  After  a  brief  examination  of  the  shattered  stage,  the 
man  ran  panting  past  them  in  search  of  his  horses;  and 
they  were  again  left  alone. 


90  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  X 

PHRASES   TOO   SUGGESTIVE 

FOE  a  few  moments  Miss  Mayhew  and  Van  Berg  walked 
on  in  silence,  each  very  doubtful  of  the  other.  At 
last  the  artist  began: 

"I  am  well  aware,  Miss  Mayhew,  that  this  unexpected 
episode  and  this  enforced  companionship  give  me  no  rights 
whatever.  I  do  not  propose  to  annoy  you,  after  seeing  you 
safely  to  the  hotel,  by  assuming  that  we  are  acquainted,  nor 
do  I  intend  to  subject  myself  to  the  mortification  of  being 
informed  publicly,  by  your  manner,  that  we  are  not  on 
speaking  terms.  I  would  be  glad  to  have  this  question 
settled  now.  I  ask  your  pardon  for  anything  that  I  may 
have  said  or  done  to  hurt  your  feelings,  and  having  thus 
gone  more  than  half-way  it  would  be  ungenerous  on  your 
part  not  to  respond  in  like  spirit." 

"You  apologize,  then?" 

"No;  I  ask  your  pardon  for  anything  that  may  have  hurt 
your  feelings." 

"You  have  said  very  disagreeable  things  about  me,  Mr. 
Van  Berg." 

"I  did  not  know  you  then." 

"I  do  not  think  you  have  changed  your  opinion  of  me  in 
the  least." 

"I  evidently  have  a  much  higher  opinion  of  you  than 
you  of  me,  and  I  am  seeking  your  acquaintance  with  a  per- 
sistence such  as  I  never  manifested  in  the  case  of  any  other 
lady.  Thus  the  odds  are  all  in  your  favor.  Having  been 
so  unexpectedly  thrown  together — " 


PHRASES    TOO    SUGGESTIVE  91 

11  'Thrown  together,'  indeed — Mr.  Van  Berg,  you  are 
mocking  me,"  and  her  eyes  again  filled  with  tears  of 
vexation. 

"I  assure  you  I  am  not,"  said  Yan  Berg  earnestly.  "I 
could  not  be  so  mean  as  to  twit  you  with  an  accident  which 
you  could  not  help,  and  with  an  act  which  was  wholly  in- 
voluntary on  your  part.  Can  we  not  both  let  bygones  be 
bygones  and  commence  anew  ?" 

Miss  Mayhew  bit  her  lip  and  hesitated  a  few  moments. 

"I  think  that  will  be  the  better  way,"  she  said.  "We 
will  both  let  bygones  be  bygones,  especially  this  ridiculous 
episode  in  the  stage.  I'll  put  you  on  your  good  be- 
havior. ' ' 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Mayhew.  I  would  take  our  late  risk 
twenty  times  for  such  a  result." 

"I  would  not  take  it  again  on  any  account  whatever. 
Please  refer  to  it  no  more.  1  declare,  there  comes  Cousin 
Ik  and  Mr.  Burleigh  to  meet  us.  Was  one's  fortune  ever 
so  exasperating!  Ik  will  teaze  me  out  of  all  comfort  for 
weeks  to  come." 

"Say  little  and  leave  all  to  my  discretion,"  said  Yan 
Berg,  reassuringly;  "and,  by  the  way,  you  might  limp  a 
little  more  decidedly,"  which  she  immediately  did. 

"My  dear  Miss  Mayhew,  I  trust  you  are  not  seriously 
hurt,"  began  Mr.  Burleigh  while  still  several  yards  off. 

Stanton's  face  was  a  study  as  he  approached.  Indeed  he 
seemed  half  ready  to  explode  with  suppressed  merriment, 
but  before  he  could  speak  a  warning  glance  from  Yan  Berg 
checked  him. 

11  Miss  Mayhew  might  have  been  seriously  and  possibly 
fatally  injured,"  said  the  artist  gravely,  "had  it  not  been 
for  her  self-control.  Although  it  seemed  that  the  stage 
would  be  dashed  to  pieces  every  moment,  I  told  her  that  in 
my  judgment  it  would  be  safer  to  remain  within  it  than  to 
spring  out  upon  the  hard  and  stony  road,  and  I  am  very 
glad  that  the  final  event  confirmed  my  opinion.1 ' 

As  they  were  by  this  time  near  to  the  hotel,  others  who 


92  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

had  been  alarmed  by  seeintg  he  horses  tearing  up  to  the 
stable  door,  now  hastily  joined  them;  and  last,  but  not 
least,  Mrs.  Mayhew  came  panting  upon  the  scene.  Van 
Berg  felt  the  hand  of  the  young  lady  trembling  in  nervous 
apprehension  upon  his  arm,  from  which,  in  her  embarrass- 
ment, she  forgot  to  remove  it.  But  the  artist  did  not  fail 
her,  and  in  answer  to  Mr.  Burleigh's  eager  questions  as  to 
the  cause  of  the  accident,  explained  all  so  plausibly,  and  in 
such  a  matter-of-fact  manner  as  left  little  more  even  to  be 
surmised.  His  brief  and  prosaic  history  of  the  affair  con- 
cluded with  the  following  implied  tribute  to  his  companion, 
which  still  further  relieved  her  from  fear  of  ridicule: 

"Miss  Mayhew,"  he  said,  "instead  of  jumping  out,  after 
the  frantic  terror-blinded  manner  of  most  people,  remained 
in  the  stage  and  so  has  escaped,  I  trust,  with  nothing  worse 
than  a  slight  lameness  caused  by  the  violent  motion  of  the 
vehicle.  I  will  now  resign  her  to  your  care,  Mr.  Stanton, 
and  I  am  glad  to  believe  that  the  occasion  will  require  the 
services  of  the  wheelwight  and  harness-maker  only,  and  not 
those  of  a  surgeon,"  and  lifting  his  hat  to  Mrs.  Mayhew  and 
her  daughter  he  bowed  himself  off  the  scene. 

Ida,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  cousin,  limped  appropri- 
ately to  her  room,  whither  she  had  her  dinner  sent  to  her, 
more  for  the  purpose  of  gaining  time  to  compose  her  nerves 
than  for  any  other  reason. 

The  impression  that  she  had  behaved  courageously  in 
peril  was  rapidly  increased  as  the  story  was  repeated  by  one 
and  another,  and  she  received  several  congratulatory  visits 
in  the  afternoon  from  her  lady  acquaintances;  and  when  she 
came  down  to  supper  she  found  that  she  was  even  a  greater 
heroine  than  Miss  Burton  had  been.  In  answer  to  many 
sympathetic  inquiries,  she  said  that  she  "felt  as  well  as 
ever,"  and  she  tried  to  prove  it  by  her  gayety  and  careful 
toilet. 

But  she  was  decidedly  ill  at  ease.  Her  old  self-com- 
placency was  ebbing  away  faster  than  ever.  From  the  time 
that  it  had  first  been  disturbed  by  the  artist's  frown  in  the 


PHRASES    TOO    SUGGESTIVE  93 

concert  garden,  she  had  been  conscious  of  a  secret  and  grow- 
ing self-dissatisfaction. 

It  seemed  to  be  this  stranger's  mission  to  break  the  spell 
vanity  and  flattery  had  woven  about  her.  The  congratula- 
tions she  was  now  receiving  were  secured  by  a  fraudulent 
impression,  if  not  by  actual  falsehood,  and  she  permitted 
this  impression  to  remain  and  grow.  The  one  who  above 
all  others  she  most  feared  and  disliked  knew  this.  In  smil- 
ingly accepting  the  compliments  showered  upon  her  from 
all  sides  she  felt  that  she  must  appear  to  him  as  if  receiving 
stolen  goods,  and  she  believed  that  in  his  heart  he  despised 
her  more  thoroughly  than  ever. 

To  the  degree  that  he  caused  her  disquietude  and  secret 
humiliation,  her  desire  to  retaliate  increased,  and  she  re- 
solved, before  the  day  closed,  to  use  her  beauty  as  a  weapon 
to  inflict  upon  him  the  severest  wound  possible.  If  it  were 
within  the  power  of  her  art  she  would  bring  him  to  her  feet 
and  keep  him  there  until  she  could,  in  the  most  decided  and 
public  manner,  spurn  his  abject  homage.  She  would  have 
no  scruple  in  doing  this  in  any  case,  but,  in  this  instance, 
success  would  give  her  the  keenest  satisfaction. 

His  very  desire  for  her  acquaintance,  as  she  understood 
it,  was  humiliating,  and,  in  a  certain  sense,  demoralizing. 
Her  other  suitors  had  imagined  that  she  had  good  traits 
back  of  her  beauty,  and  hitherto  she  had  been  carelessly 
content  to  believe  that  she  could  display  such  traits  in 
abundance  should  the  occasion  require  them.  Here  was 
one,  however,  who,  while  despising  the  woman,  was  appar- 
ently seeking  her  for  the  sake  of  her  beauty  merely;  and 
her  woman's  soul,  warped  and  dwarfed  as  it  was,  resented 
a  homage  that  was  seemingly  sensuous  and  superficial,  and 
would,  of  necessity,  be  transient.  In  her  ignorance  of  Van 
Berg's  motives,  and  in  the  utter  impossibility  of  surmising 
them,  she  could  scarcely  come  to  any  other  conclusion;  and 
she  determined  to  punish  him  to  the  utmost  extent  of  her 
ability. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  Miss  May  hew  had  designs 


94  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

against  Van  Berg  that  were  not  quite  as  amiable  as  those 
of  the  artist  in  regard  to  herself. 

Stanton,  in  a  low  tone,  remarked  to  her  at  the  supper 
table,  "J low  that  fate  has  thrown  you  and  Van  Berg  to- 
gether in  such  a  remarkable  manner' '  (the  young  lady  col- 
ored deeply  at  this  unfortunate  expression  and  looked  at 
him  keenly),  "I  trust  that  you  will  yield  gracefully  to  des- 
tiny and  treat  him  with  ordinary  courtesy  when  you  meet. 
Otherwise  you  may  occasion  surmises  that  will  not  be  agree- 
able to  you." 

"Has  he  been  telling  you  anything  about  this  morn- 
ing?" she  asked  quickly. 

"Nothing  more  than  he  said  in  your  presence.  Why, 
was  there  anything  more  to  tell  ?" 

"Certainly  not,  but  he  made  ill-natured  remarks  about 
me  once — that  is,  you  said  he  did — and  why  should  he  not 
again?" 

"Well,  he  has  not.  I  think  he  spoke  very  handsomely 
of  you  this  morning.  I  hope  he  didn't  exaggerate  your 
good  behavior." 

"If  you  prefer  to  believe  ill  of  me  you  are  welcome  to  do 
so.  For  my  part,  I  believe  you  exaggerate  what  Mr.  Van 
Berg  said  at  the  concert,  and  that  he  never  meant  to  be  so 
rude.  As  far  as  I  can  judge,  he  has  shown  no  such  unman- 
nerly disposition  since  coming  here. 

"Indeed,  you  are  right.  I  think  his  disposition  has 
compared  favorably  with  your  own." 

"Well,"  she  replied,  with  a  peculiar  smile,  "we  are  on 
speaking  terms  for  the  present." 

"That  smile  bodes  no  goodwill  toward  my  friend,  but 
for  once  you  will  find  a  man  who  will  not  fall  helplessly 
in  love  with  your  mere  beauty. 

"If  you  will  glance  at  yonder  table  you  can  see  that  Miss 
Burton  has  already  so  absorbed  him  that  he  has  eyes  for  no 
one  else." 

"They  have  jolly  good  times  at  that  table.  I  wish  we 
were  there." 


PHRASES    TOO   SUGGESTIVE  95 

"Indeed!  are  you  bewitched  also?  I  can't  see  what  it 
is  that  people  find  so  attractive  in  that  plain-looking  girl." 

"Well,  for  one  thing,  she  has  a  mind.  Beauty  without 
mind  is  like  salad  without  dressing." 

"And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  have  no  mind?"  Ida 
asked,  with  a  sudden  flush. 

"My  dear  Coz,  we  were  speaking  solely  of  Miss  Burton. 
Indeed,  I  think  you  have  a  very  decided  will  of  your  own." 

"I  understand  you.  Well,  in  what  other  respects  is  Miss 
Burton  my  superior  ?" 

"I  doubt  if  Miss  Burton  ever  thinks  of  herself  as  supe- 
rior to  any  one,  and  that's  another  very  amiable  trait  in 
her." 

"Can  you  not  sum  up  her  perfections  a  little  more  rap- 
idly ?     Life  is  short,"  remarked  Ida,  acidly. 

"Come,  Coz,  let  me  get  you  some  sweet-oil  before  you 
finish  your  supper.  You  know  you  are  the  handsomest  girl 
in  the  State,  and  that's  distinction  enough  for  one  woman. 
To  you,  Miss  Burton  is  only  a  plain  school-teacher.  Why 
should  you  envy  her?" 

"I  do  not  envy  her,  nor  can  1  see  why  people  are  so 
carried  away  with  her." 

"It  is  remarkable  to  see  what  an  impression  she  has 
made  in  two  brief  days.  Of  course  her  courage  in  saving 
the  child  served  as  a  general  and  favorable  introduction, 
but  it  does  not  by  any  means  explain  her  growing  popu- 
larity. For  some  reason  or  other  those  about  her  always 
seem  to  be  having  a  good  time.  See  how  animated  and 
pleased  is  the  expression  of  all  the  faces  at  her  table  yon- 
der. It  was  the  same  on  the  croquet-ground  this  morning. 
She  effervesced  like  champagne,  and  before  we  knew  it  we 
were  all  in  a  state  of  exhilaration  and  the  morning  had 
gone." 

"I  hate  these  bold,  forward  women  who  are  quick  to  be- 
come acquainted  with  every  one.  A  man  of  this  type  is 
bad  enough,  but  a  women  is  unendurable." 

"I  agree  with  you  in  the  abstract  most  heartily;  but  the 


96  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

only  bold  thing  that  I  have  seen  Miss  Burton  do  was  to  run 
under  the  feet  of  my  horses.  You  might  as  well  call  a  ray 
of  sunshine  bold  and  forward;  and  people  like  sunshine 
when  it  is  as  nicely  tempered  as  her  manner  is.  I  confess 
that  when  I  first  learned  who  she  was,  and  before  I  had  met 
her  personally,  I  was  greatly  prejudiced  against  her,  but 
one  would  have  to  be  a  churl  indeed  to  remain  proof  against 
her  genial  good- nature.  For  my  part  I  intend  to  enjoy  it,  as 
I  do  all  the  other  good  things  the  gods  throw  in  my  way." 

"The  gods  would  indeed  be  careless  to  leave  any  good 
thing  within  your  reach,  unless  they  were  meant  for  you," 
snapped  Ida. 

"Good  for  you,  Coz;  your  ride  with  Van  Berg  has  al- 
ready brightened  you  up.  There  is  no  telling  what  you 
might  not  become  if  you  would  only  associate  with  men 
who  had  sufficient  brains  not  to  grow  spoony  over  your 
pretty  face." 

As  Ida  and  her  mother  passed  out  on  the  piazza,  Van 
Berg  joined  them  and  said: 

uIam  glad  to  see  that  you  have  so  fully  recovered,  Miss 
Mayhew.  You  prove  again  that  you  possess  good  strong 
nerves." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  young  lady,  laconically,  and 
with  a  sudden  accession  of  color. 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,"  began  Mrs.  Mayhew  with  great  anima- 
tion, "I'm  excessively  thankful  that  you  happened  to  be  on 
the  road,  and  that  the  stage  overtook  you  this  morning.  It 
was  so  fortunate  that  I  almost  think  it  providential.  How 
dreadful  it  would  have  been  if  Ida  had  been  alone  in  such 
frightful  peril !  I  cannot  tell  you  also  how  delighted  I  am 
that  my  daughter  behaved  so  beautifully.  Indeed,  I  must 
confess  that  I  am  agreeably  surprised,  for  Ida  was  never 
famous  for  courage.  Your  own  manner  must  have  inspired 
confidence  in  her;  and  now  that  you  have  been  so  fortu- 
nately thrown  together,  I  trust  you  may  be  better  friends  in 
the  future." 

Miss  Mayhew's  rising  color  deepened  into  an  intense 


PHRASES    TOO   SUGGESTIVE  97 

scarlet,  and,  as  she  turned  away  to  hide  her  confusion.,  she 
could  not  forbear  shooting  a  wrathful  glance  at  the  artist 
He  had  sufficient  self-control  not  to  change  a  muscle,  or  to 
appear  in  the  slightest  degree  aware  of  the  embarrassment 
caused  by  her  mother's  words,  and  especially  the  use  of  a 
phrase — grown  to  be  most  hateful  from  its  associations — that 
so  vividly  recalled  to  the  incensed  maiden  the  anomalous 
position  in  which  she  found  herself  at  the  end  of  her  perilous 
morning  ride. 

"You  ladies  differ  favorably  from  us  men,"  said  Van 
Berg,  quietly.  "You  rise  to  meet  an  emergency  by  an 
innate  quality  of  your  sex,  whereas,  in  our  case,  if  our 
native  strength  is  not  equal  to  the  occasion  we  fall  below 
it  as  a  matter  of  course." 

"Oh,  that  accounts  for  Ida's  coming  off  with  such  flying 
colors — she  rose  to  meet  the  emergency.  I  hope,  however, 
she  will  embrace  no  more  such  opportunities  of  showing  her 
courage— why !  Ida,  what  is  the  matter  ?  what  have  I  said  ?" 
but  the  young  lady,  with  face  inflamed,  vanished  in  the 
direction  of  her  room. 

"Well,  this  is  strange,"  remarked  the  lady  with  a  sharp 
glance  of  inquiry  at  the  artist,  who  still  managed  to  main* 
tain  an  expression  of  lamb-like  innocence.  "I  do  believe 
the  poor  child  is  ill,  and,  now  I  think  of  it,  she  has  not 
acted  like  herself  for  several  days;"  and  she  sought  her 
daughter  with  hasty  steps. 

But  the  young  lady  did  not  go  to  her  room,  being  well 
aware  that  her  mother  would  soon  follow  for  the  explana- 
tion which  she  could  not  give.  Therefore,  taking  a  side 
corridor,  she  joined  some  acquaintances  on  another  piazza. 


5— Rob— XII 


98  A   FACE  ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER   XI 

A   *  'TABLEAU   VIVANT' 


C£ 


M 


ISS  MAYHEW,  will  you  please  step  here?"  said 
a  very  fashionably  dressed  lady. 

Turning,  Ida  saw  near  her  the  mother  of  the 
child  that  had  been  rescued  the  previous  day.  She,  with 
her  husband,  had  been  talking  very  earnestly  to  Mr.  Bur- 
leigh, the  proprietor  of  the  house,  who  seemed  in  rather  a 
dubious  state  of  mind  over  some  proposition  of  theirs. 

"Miss  May  hew,  we  want  your  opinion  in  regard  to  a 
certain  matter,"  began  the  lady  volubly.  "Of  course  I  and 
my  husband  feel  very  grateful  to  the  young  woman  who 
saved  our  child  from  your  cousin's  horses  yesterday.  In- 
deed, my  husband  feels  so  deeply  indebted  that  he  wishes 
to  make  some  return,  and  I  have  suggested  that  he  present 
her  with  a  check  for  five  hundred  dollars.  I  learn  from  Mr. 
Burleigh  that  she  is  a  teacher,  and  therefore,  of  course,  she 
must  be  poor.  Now,  in  my  view,  if  my  husband  or  some 
other  gentleman  should  present  this  check  in  the  parlor, 
with  an  appropriate  little  speech,  it  would  be  a  nice  ac- 
knowledgment of  her  act.     Don't  you  think  so?" 

"I  do  not  think  I  am  qualified  to  give  an  opinion,"  said 
Ida,  "as  I  have  no  acquaintance  with  the  lady  whatever." 

"I'm  sure  it  will  be  just  the  thing  to  do,"  said  the  lady, 
becoming  more  infatuated  with  her  project  every  moment. 
"Do  you  think  your  cousin  would  be  willing  to  make  the 
speech  ?" 

At  this  suggestion  Ida  laughed  outright.  "The  idea," 
she  said,  "of  my  cousin  making  a  speech  of  any  kind,  or  in 
any  circumstances!" 


A    "TABLEAU    VlVANTn 


99 


"Now  I  think  of  it,"  persisted  the  lady,  uMiss  Burton 
and  Mr.  Van  Berg  sit  at  the  same  table,  and  he  seems  better 
acquainted  with  her  than  any  of  the  gentlemen.  He's  the 
one  to  make  the  speech,  only  I  do  not  feel  that  I  know  him 
well  enough  to  ask  him.     Do  you,  Miss  May  hew  ?" 

"Indeed  I  do  not,"  said  the  young  lady,  decisively; 
"I  am  the  last  one  in  the  house  to  ask  any  favors  of  Mr. 

Van  Berg." 

41  Well,  then,  Mr.  Burleigh  can  explain  everything  and 

ask  him." 

"Really  now,  Mrs.  Chints"— for  such  was  the  lady  s 
name— "I  don't  quite  believe  that  Mr.  Van  Berg  would 
approve  of  giving  Miss  Burton  money  in  public,  and  be- 
fore  anything  further  is  done  I  would  like  to  ask  his  judg- 
ment.  It  all  may  be  eminently  proper,  as  you  say,  and  I 
would  not  like  to  stand  in  the  way  of  the  young  lady's 
receiving  so  handsome  a  present,  and  would  not  for  the 
world  if  I  thought  it  would  be  agreeable  to  her;  but  there 
is  something  about  her  that—' ' 

"I  have  it,"  interrupted  the  positive- minded  lady,  un- 
heeding and  scarcely  hearing  Mr.  Burleigh's  dubious  cir- 
cumlocution,  and  she  put  her  finger  to  her  forehead  for  a 
moment  in  an  affected  stage-like  manner,  as  if  her  ideas  of 
the  "eternal  fitness  of  things"  had  been  obtained  from  the 
sensational  drama.    "I  have  it:  the  child  himself  shall  hand 
her  the  gift  from  his  own  little  hand,  and  you,  Mr.  Chints, 
can  say  all  that  need  be  said.     It  will  be  a  pretty  scene,  a 
tableau  vivant.     Mr.  Chints,  come  with  me  before  the  young 
woman  leaves  her  present  favorable  position  near  the  parlor 
door.     Mr.    Burleigh,  your  scruples  are  sentimental  and 
groundless.     Of  course  the  young  woman  will  be  delighted 
to  receive  in  one  evening  as  much,  and  perhaps  more,  than 
her  whole  year's  salary  amounts  to.     Come,  Mr.  Chints; 
Mr.  Burleigh,  if  you  wish,  you  may  group  some  of  your 
friends  near;"    and  away  she  rustled,  sweeping  the  floor 
with  her  silken  train. 

Mr.   Chints  lumbered  after   her  with  a  perplexed  and 


100  A    FACE  ILLUMINED 

martyr- like  expression.  He  was  a  mighty  man  in  Washing- 
ton Market,  but  in  a  matter  like  this  he  was  as  helpless  as 
a  stranded  whale.  The  gift  of  five  hundred  dollars  did  not 
trouble  him  in  the  least;  he  could  soon  make  that  up;  but 
taking  part  in  a  "tableau  vivant"  under  the  auspices  of  his 
dramatic  wife  was  like  being  impaled. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Burleigh,  shaking  his  head,  "I  wash 
my  hands  of  the  whole  matter.  Five  hundred  dollars  is  a 
snug  sum,  but  I  doubt  if  that  little  woman  takes  it.  I'm 
mere  afraid  she'll  be  offended  and  hurt.  What  do  you 
thmk,  Miss  May  hew?" 

4 'I've  no  opinion  to  offer,  Mr.  Burleigh.  These  people 
are  all  comparative  strangers  to  me.  Mrs.  Chints  is  deter- 
mined to  have  her  own  way,  and  nothing  that  you  or  I  can 
say  would  make  any  difference.  My  rule  is  to  let  people 
alone,  and  if  they  get  into  scrapes  it  sometimes  does  them 
good;"  and  she  left  him  that  she  might  witness  the  Chints' 
tableau. 

"That's  just  the  difference  between  you  and  Miss  Bur- 
ton," muttered  Mr.  Burleigh,  nodding  his  head  significantly 
after  her.  "She'd  help  a  fellow  out  of  a  scrape  and  you'd 
help  him  into  one.  Well,  if  the  old  saying's  true,  'Haad- 
some  is  that  handsome  does,1  the  little  school-teacher  would 
be  the  girl  for  me  were  I  looking  for  my  mate." 

On  her  way  to  the  entrance  of  the  main  parlor,  Ida 
stopped  a  moment  at  an  open  window  near  the  corner 
where  Stanton  and  Van  Berg  were  smoking. 

"Cousin  Ik,"  she  said,  sotto  voce. 

He  rose  and  joined  her. 

"If  you  wish  to  see  a  rich  scene,  hover  near  the  entrance 
of  the  main  parlor." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I've  learned  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chints,  and  possibly 
your  favorite  new  performer,  Miss  Burton,  are  going  to  act 
a  little  comedy  together:  come  and  see;"  and  she  vanished. 

"Van,"  said  Stanton  in  a  vexed  tone,  "there's  some  mis* 
cnief  on  foot;"  and  he  mentioned  what  his  cousin  had  said, 


A    "TABLEAU    V1VANT"  101 

adding:  "Can  Ida  have  been  putting  tfrat  brassy  Mrs.  Chints 
up  to  some  absurd  performance  that  will  hurt  Miss  Burton's 
feelings?" 

They  rose  and  sauntered  down  the  piazza,  Van  Berg 
trying  to  imagine  what  was  about  to  take  place  and  how 
he  could  shield  the  young  lady  from  any  annoyance. 

She  sat  inside  the  entrance  of  the  main  parlor  facing  the 
open  windows,  and  a  little  group  had  gathered  around  her, 
including  the  ladies  who  sat  at  her  table,  with  whom  she 
had  already  become  a  favorite.  Ida  had  demurely  entered 
by  one  of  the  open  windows  and  was  apparently  reading 
a  novel  under  one  of  the  gas-jets  not  far  away.  Groups 
of  people  were  chatting  near  or  were  seated  around  card- 
tables;  others  were  quietly  promenading  in  the  hall- ways 
and  on  the  piazza.  There  was  not  an  indication  of  any  ex- 
pected or  unexpected  "scene."  Only  Ida's  conscious,  ob- 
servant expression  and  the  absence  of  Mrs.  Chints  foreboded 
mischief. 

"What  enormity  can  that  odious  family  be  about  to  per- 
petrate?" whispered  Stanton. 

"I  cannot  surmise,"  answered  Van  Berg;  "something 
in  reference  to  the  rescue  of  her  child,  I  suppose.  I  wish 
I  could  thwart  them,  for  Miss  Burton's  position  will  place 
her  full  in  the  public  eye,  and  I  do  not  wish  her  to  be  the 
victim  of  their  vulgarity." 

After  a  little  further  hesitation  and  thought  he  stepped 
in,  and  approaching  Miss  Burton,  said: 

"Pardon  me  for  interrupting  you,  but  I  wish  to  show 
you  something  on  the  piazza  that  will  interest  you." 

She  rose  to  follow  him,  but  before  she  could  take  a  step 
Mrs.  Chints  swept  in  on  the  arm  of  her  husband,  followed 
by  the  nurse — who  had  been  retained  at  Miss  Burton's  inter- 
cession— bearing  in  her  arms  the  little  boy,  that  stared  at  the 
lights  and  people  with  the  round  eyes  of  childish  wonder. 

Every  one  looked  up  in  surprise  at  the  sudden  appear- 
ance of  the  little  group,  that  suggested  a  christening  more 
than  anything  else. 


102  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

'  *  Planting  themselves  before  Miss  Burton,  thus  barring  all 
egress,  Mr.  Chints  fumbled  a  moment  in  his  pocket  and 
drew  out  an  envelope,  and  with  a  loud,  prefatory  "Ahem!" 
began: 

"My  clear  Miss  Burton — that  is  the  way  Mrs.  Chints  says 
I  should  address  you,  though  it  strikes  me  as  a  trifle  familiar 
and  affectionate;  but  I  mean  no  harm — we're  under  pecul — 
very  great  obligations  to  you.  We  learn — my  wife  has — that 
you  are  engaged — engaged — in — I  mean  that  you — teach. 
I'm  sure  that's  a  lawful  calling — I  mean  a  laudable  one, 
and  no  one  can  deny  that  it's  useful.  In  my  view  it's  to 
your  credit  that  you  are  engaged — in — that  you  teach.  I 
work  myself,  and  always  mean  to.  In  fact  I  enjoy  it  more 
than  making  speeches.  But  feeling  that  we  were  under 
wonderful  obligations  to  you,  and  learning — my  wife  did — 
that  you  were  dependent  on — on  your  own  labor,  we  thought 
that  if  this  little  fellow  that  you  saved  so  handsomely  should 
hand  you  this  check  for  five  hundred  dollars  it  wouldn't  be 
amiss."  And  here,  according  to  rehearsal,  the  nurse  with 
great  parade  handed  the  child  to  Mrs.  Chints,  who  now, 
with  much  empressement,  advanced  to  a  position  immediately 
before  Miss  Burton;  meanwhile  the  poor,  perspiring  Mr. 
Chints  put  the  envelope  into  the  child's  chubby  hand, 
saying: 

"Give  it  to  the  lady,  Augustus." 

But  the  small  Augustus,  on  the  contrary,  stared  at  the 
lady  and  put  the  envelope  in  his  mouth,  to  the  great  morti- 
fication of  Mrs.  Chints,  who  had  been  so  preoccupied  with 
the  Chints  side  of  the  affair,  and  the  impression  they  were 
making  on  the  extemporized  audience,  that  she  had  no  eyes 
ior  Miss  Burton. 

And  that  young  lady's  face  was,  in  truth,  a  study.  An 
expression  of  surprise  was  followed  quickly  by  one  of  re- 
sentment Even  Stanton  was  obliged  to  admit  that  for 
a  moment  the  little  "school-ma'am"  looked  formidable. 
But  as  Mr.  Chints  floundered  on  in  his  speech,  as  some  poor 
wretch  who  could  not  swim  might  struggle  to  get  out  of  the 


A    "TABLEAU    VIVANT"  103 

deep  water  into  which  he  had  been  thrown,  the  expression 
of  her  face  softened,  and  one  might  imagine  the  thought 
passing  through  her  mind — ''They  don't  know  any  better;" 
and  when,  at  last,  the  child,  instead  of  carrying  out  the 
climax  that  Mrs.  Chints  had  intended,  began  vigorously  to 
munch  the  envelope  containing  the  precious  check,  there 
was  even  a  twinkle  of  humor  in  the  young  lady's  eyes.  But 
she  responded  gravely: 

"Mr.  Chints,  I  was  at  first  inclined  to  resent  this  scene, 
but  time  has  been  given  me  to  perceive  that  neither  you  nor 
your  wife  wish  to  hurt  my  feelings,  and  that  you  are  in  part, 
at  least,  actuated  by  feelings  of  gratitude  for  the  service 
that  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  render  you.  But  I  fear  you 
do  not  quite  understand  me.  You  are  right  in  one  respect, 
however.  I  do  labor  for  my  own  livelihood,  and  it  is  a 
source  of  the  deepest  satisfaction  to  me  that  I  can  live  from 
my  own  work  and  not  from  gifts.  If  your  hearts  prompt 
this  large  donation,  there  are  hundreds  of  poor  little  waifs 
in  the  city  to  whom  this  money  will  bring  a  little  of  the  care 
and  comfort  which  blesses  your  child.  As  for  myself,  this  is 
all  the  reward  that  I  wish  or  can  receive,"  and  she  stooped 
and  kissed  the  child  on  both  cheeks.  Then  taking  Van 
Berg's  arm,  she  gladly  escaped  to  the  cool  and  dusky 
piazza. 

Mr.  Chints  looked  at  Mrs.  Chints  in  dismay.  Mrs.  Chints 
handed  the  baby  to  the  nurse,  and  beat  an  undramatic  and 
hasty  retreat,  her  husband  following  in  a  dazed  sort  of  man- 
ner, treading  on  her  train  at  every  other  step. 

As  Van  Berg  passed  out  of  the  parlor,  he  saw  Ida  May- 
hew  vanishing  from  its  further  side,  with  Stanton  in  close 
pursuit.  When  Miss  Burton  ended  the  disagreeable  affair 
by  kissing  the  child,  there  had  been  a  slight  murmur  of 
applause.  Significant  smiles  and  a  rising  hum  of  voices 
descanting  on  the  affair  in  a  way  not  at  all  complimentary 
to  the  crestfallen  Chints  family,  followed  the  disappear- 
ances of  all  the  actors  in  the  unexpected  scene. 


104  A    FACE   1LLUM1JSED 


M 


CHAPTER   XII 

MISS   MAYHEW    IS   PUZZLED 

ISS  BURTON,"  said  Van  Berg,  as  soon  as  they 
were  alone,  'lI  wish  I  could  have  saved  you  from 
this  disagreeable  experience.  I  tried  to  do  so, 
but  was  not  quick  enough.  I  much  blame  my  slow  wits 
that  I  was  not  more  prompt." 

"I  wish  it  might  have  been  prevented,"  she  replied,  "for 
their  sakes  as  well  as  my  own." 

"I  have  no  compunctions  on  their  account  whatever, " 
said  Van  Berg,  "and  feel  that  you  let  them  off  much  too 
kindly.  I  think,  however,  that  they  and  all  others  here 
will  understand  you  much  better  hereafter.  I  cannot  ex- 
press too  strongly  to  you  how  thoroughly  our  brief  acquaint- 
ance has  taught  me  to  respect  you,  and  if  you  will  permit 
me  to  give  an  earnest  meaning  to  Mr.  Burleigh's  jesting 
offer  to  share  with  me  the  responsibility  of  your  care,  I  will 
esteem  it  an  honor." 

"I  sincerely  thank  you,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  and  should  I 
ever  need  the  services  of  a  gentleman" — she  laid  a  slight 
emphasis  upon  the  term — "I  shall,  without  any  hesitancy, 
turn  to  you.  But  I  have  long  since  learned  to  be  my  own 
protectress,  as,  after  all,  one  must  be,  situated  as  I  am." 

"You  seem  to  have  the  ability,  not  only  to  take  care  of 
yourself,  but  of  others,  Miss  Burton.  Nevertheless  I  shall, 
with  your  permission,  establish  a  sort  of  protectorate  over 
you  which  shall  be  exceedingly  unobtrusive  and  undemon- 
strative, and  not  in  the  least  like  that  which  some  powers 
make  the  excuse  for  exactions,  until  the  protected  party  is 


MISS    MAYHEW   IS   PUZZLED  105 

ready  to  cry  out  in  desperation  to  be  delivered  from  its 
friends.  I  hesitated  too  long  this  evening  from  the  fear 
of  being  forward;  and  yet  I  did  not  know  what  was  coming, 
and  had  learned  only  accidentally  but  a  few  moments  before 
that  anything  was  coming." 

"Well,"  replied  Miss  Burton  with  a  slight  laugh,  "it's 
a  comfortable  thought  that  there's  a  fort  near,  to  which  one 
can  run  should  an  enemy  appear;  and  a  pleasanter  thought 
still,  that  the  fort  is  strong  and  stanch.  But,  to  change  the 
figure,  I  have  a  great  fancy  for  paddling  my  own  light 
canoe,  and  such  small  craft  will  often  float,  you  know,  where 
a  ship  of  the  line  would  strike." 

"I  will  admit,  Miss  Burton,  that  ships  of  the  line  are 
often  unwieldy  and  clumsily  deep  in  the  water;  but  if  you 
ever  do  need  a  gunboat  with  a  howitzer  or  two  on  deck, 
may  I  hope  to  be  summoned?" 

"I  could  ask  for  no  better  champion.  I  fairly  tremble 
at  the  broadside  that  would  follow." 

"Are  you  thinking  of  the  discharge  or  the  recoil  ?" 

"Both  might  involve  danger,"  said  Miss  Burton,  laugh- 
ing; "but  I  have  concluded  to  keep  on  your  side  through 
such  wars  as  may  rage  at  the  Lake  House  during  my  so- 
journ. I  cannot  help  thinking  of  poor  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chints. 
I  feel  almost  as  sorry  for  such  people  as  I  do  for  the  blind 
and  deaf.  They  seem  to  lack  a  certain  sense  which,  if  pos- 
sessed, would  teach  them  to  avoid  such  scenes." 

"I  detest  such  people  and  like  to  snub  them  unmerci- 
fully," said  Van  Berg,  heartily. 

11  That  may  be  in  accordance  with  a  gunboat  character; 
but  is  it  knightly  ?"  « 

"  Why  not  ?  What  does  snobbishness  and  rich  vulgarity 
deserve  at  any  man's  hands?" 

"Nothing  but  sturdy  blows.  But  what  do  weak,  imper- 
fect, half-educated  men  and  women,  who  have  never  had 
a  tithe  of  your  advantages,  need  at  your  hands?  Can  we 
not  condemn  faults,  and  at  the  same  time  pity  and  help  the 
faulty  ?     The  gunboat   sends  its   shot  crashing  too  much 


106  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

at  random.     It  seems  to  me  that  true   knighthood  would 
spare  weakness  of  any  kind." 

"I'm  glad  you  have  not  spared  mine.  You  have  demol- 
ished me  as  a  gunboat,  but  I  would  fain  be  your  knight." 

"It  is  Mrs.  Chints  who  needs  a  knight  at  present,  and 
not  I.  It  troubles  me  to  think  of  her  worriment  over  this 
foolish  little  episode,  and  with  your  permission  I  will  go 
and  try  to  banish  the  cloud." 

As  she  turned  she  was  intercepted  by  Stanton,  who  said: 

"Miss  Burton,  let  me  present  to  you  my  cousin,  Miss 
May  hew." 

A  ray  from  a  parlor  lamp  fell  upon  Ida's  face,  and  Van 
Berg  saw  at  once  that  it  was  clouded  and  unamiable  in  its 
expression.  Stanton  had  evidently  been  reproaching  her 
severely. 

Miss  Burton  held  out  her  hand  cordially  and  said:  "I 
wish  to  thank  you  for  maintaining  the  credit  of  our  sex 
this  morning.  These  superior  men  are  so  fond  of  portray- 
ing us  as  hysterical,  clinging  creatures  whose  only  instinct 
in  peril  is  to  throw  themselves  on  man's  protection,  that 
I  always  feel  a  little  exultation  when  one  of  the  "weaker 
and  gentler  sex,"  as  we  are  termed,  show  the  courage  and 
presence  of  mind  which  they  coolly  appropriate  as  mas- 
culine qualities." 

"Are  you  an  advocate  of  woman's  rights,  Miss  Burton  ?" 
asked  Miss  Mayhew,  stung  by  the  unconscious  sarcasm  of 
the  lady's  words,  to  reply  in  almost  as  resentful  a  manner 
as  if  a  wound  had  been  intended. 

"Not  of  woman's  particularly,"  was  the  quiet  answer; 
"I  would  be  glad  if  every  one  had  their  rights." 

"Your  philanthropy  is  very  wide,  certainly." 

"And  therefore  very  thin,  perhaps  you  think,  since  it 
covers  so  much  ground.  I  agree  with  you,  Miss  Mayhew, 
that  general  goodwill  is  as  cold  and  thin  as  moonshine. 
One  ray  of  sunlight  that  warms  some  particular  thing  into 
life  is  worth  it  all." 

"Indeed!     I  think  I  prefer  moonlight." 


MISS   MAYHEW   IS    PUZZLED  107 

"There  are  certain  absorbing  avocations  in  life  to  which, 
moonshine  is  better  adapted  than  sunlight,  is  probably  the 
thought  in  my  cousin's  mind,"  said  Stanton,  satirically. 

"And  what  are  they?"   asked  Miss  Burton. 

"Flirtation,  for  instance." 

"My  cousin  is  speaking  for  himself,"  said  Ida,  acidly; 
"and  knows  better  what  is  in  his  own  mind  than  in  mine." 

"If  some  ladies  themselves  never  know  their  own  minds, 
how  can  another  know  ?' '   Stanton  retorted. 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Burton,  with  a  laugh,  "if  we  accept 
a  practical  philosophy  much  in  vogue — that  of  taking  the 
world  as  we  find  it — flirting  is  one  of  the  commonest  pur- 
suits of  mankind." 

"I'm  quite  sure,  Miss  Burton,"  said  Van  Berg,  "that 
your  philosophy  of  life  is  the  reverse  of  taking  the  world 
as  we  find  it. ' ' 

"Indeed,  you  are  mistaken,  sir;  I  am  exceeding  prosaic 
in  my  views,  and  cherish  no  Utopian  dreams  and  theories. 
I  do  indeed  take  the  old  matter-of-fact  world  as  I  find  it, 
and  try  to  make  the  best  of  it." 

"Ah,  your  last  is  a  very  saving  clause.  Too  many  are 
seemingly  trying  to  make  the  worst  of  it,  and  unfortunately 
they  succeed." 

Ida  here  shot  a  quick  and  vengeful  glance  at  the  speaker. 

"Please  do  not  present  me  as  a  general  reformer,  Mr.  Yan 
Berg,"  protested  Miss  Burton,  with  a  light  laugh;  "I  have 
my  hands  full  in  mending  my  own  ways." 

"And  so  might  we  all,  no  doubt,"  said  Stanton;  "only 
most  of  us  leave  our  ways  unmended.  But  I  am  curious  to 
know,  Miss  Burton,  how  you  would  make  the  best  of  a  flirta- 
tion; since  this  is  emphatically  a  part  of  the  world  as  we 
find  it,  especially  at  a  summer  hotel." 

"The  best  that  we  can  do  with  many  things  that  exist," 
she  replied,  "is  to  leave  them  alone.  Italy  is  pre-eminently 
the  land  of  garlic  and  of  art;  but  fortunately  we  shall  not 
find  it  necessary  to  indulge  in  both  and  in  equal  proportions 
when  we  are  so  happy  as  to  go  abroad." 


108  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

"A  great  many  people  prefer  the  garlic,"  said  Stanton. 

"Oh,  certainly,"  she  answered;  "it's  a  matter  of  taste." 

"So  then  garlic  and  flirtation  are  corresponding  terms  in 
your  vocabulary  ?" 

ltI  cannot  say  which  term  outranks  the  other,  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  if  a  woman  regards  her  love  as  a  sacred 
thing,  she  cannot  permit  an  indefinite  number  of  common- 
place people  even  to  attempt  to  stain  it  with  their  soiling 
touch." 

"I  think  gentlemen  show  just  as  much  of  a  disposition 
to  flirt  as  ladies,"  said  Ida,  with  resentment  in  her  tone. 

"I  will  not  dispute  that  statement,"  replied  Miss  Burton, 
with  a  laugh;  "indeed,  I'm  inclined  to  think  they  are  very 
human." 

"Humane,  you  mean,"  interposed  Stanton.  "Yes,  I 
often  wonder  at  our  patient  endurance." 

"Which  shall  be  taxed  no  longer  to-night  by  me.  Good- 
evening,  Miss  Mayhew.     Good-evening,  patient  martyrs." 

"Humane,  indeed!"  said  Stanton.  "Are  you  that  way 
inclined,  Van  ?" 

"I  have  no  occasion  to  be  otherwise." 

"Well,  I  feel  savage  enough  to  scalp  some  one." 

"So  I  should  judge,"  remarked  Ida. 

"Perhaps  then,  as  my  mood  contrasts  somewhat  favor- 
ably with  your  cousin's,  you  will  venture  to  walk  with  me 
for  a  while?"  said  Van  Berg. 

"Indeed,  sir,"  she  replied,  taking  his  arm,  "there  are 
times  when  any  change  is  a  relief." 

"I  cannot  be  very  greatly  elated  over  that  view  of  the 
case,  certainly,"  remarked  Van  Berg,  with  a  laugh. 

She  did  not  reply  at  once,  but  after  a  moment  said:  "I 
suppose  you  regard  me  as  a  hopeless  case  at  best. 

"What  suggests  that  thought  to  you,  Miss  Mayhew  ?" 

"You  are  not  so  dull  as  to  need  to  ask  that  question,  and 
you  only  ask  it  to  draw  me  out.  For  one  thing,  you  prob- 
ably think  that  I  instigated  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chints  to  act  as 
they  did.     This  is  not  true." 


MISS    MAYHEW  IS    PUZZLED  109 

"I'm  very  glad  to  hear  it." 

"I'm  no  more  to  blame  than  Mr.  Burleigh  was.  He  knew 
about  it  as  well  as  I  did,  but  Mrs.  Chints  was  bound  to  carry 
out  her  project.* ' 

"  Will  you  permit  a  suggestion  ?" 

"I  suppose  you  wish  to  insinuate  that  I  acted  like  a 
heathen,  instead  of  saying  that  I  am  one  plainly,  as  does 
Cousin  Ik?" 

"I  think  you  acted  a  little  thoughtlessly.  If  Miss  Bur- 
ton had  been  in  your  place,  she  would  have  tried  to  prevent 
the  disagreeable  scene." 

"Oh,  certainly!  she  is  perfect." 

"No;  she  is  kind." 

"Would  it  be  possible  to  speak  upon  some  agreeable  sub- 
ject, Mr.  Van  Berg  ?  I  have  had  enough  mortifications  for 
one  day." 

He  was  puzzled.  What  topic  could  he  introduce  that 
would  interest  this  spoiled  and  petulant  beauty  ? 

He  touched  on  art,  but  she  was  only  artful  in  her  small 
way,  and  could  not  follow  him.  He  tried  literature,  and 
here  they  had  even  less  in  common.  He  would  not  and 
indeed  could  not  read  the  thin  society  novels  which  re- 
flected modes  of  life  as  trivial  as  her  own,  and  his  books 
might  have  been  written  in  another  language,  so  slight  was 
her  acquaintance  with  them.  The  various  political,  social, 
or  scientific  questions  of  the  day  had  never  puzzled  her 
brain.  Van  Berg  cautiously  felt  his  way  toward  his  com- 
panion's knowledge  of  two  or  three  of  the  most  popular  of 
them.  Her  answers,  however,  were  so  superficial  and  irrel- 
evant, and  also  so  evidently  embarrassed,  that  he  saw  his  only 
resources  to  be  society  chit-chat,  gossip  about  mutual  ac- 
quaintances, the  latest  modes,  the  attractions  of  pleasure 
resorts  in  the  city,  and  of  summer  resorts  in  the  country. 
But  he  gave  his  mind  to  these  unwonted  themes,  and 
labored  hard  to  be  entertaining;  for  now  that  he  had 
gained  the  vantage-ground  he  sought,  he  was  determined 
to  discover  whether  there  was  a  sleeping  mind  or  a  vacuum 


110  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

behind  Miss  May  hew' s  shapely  forehead.  Granting  that 
there  was  a  womanly  intelligence  there,  as  yet  unquick- 
ened,  he  was  not  so  irrational  as  to  imagine  he  could  jostle 
it  into  illumining  activity  in  one  short  hour,  or  day,  or 
week.  But  it  seemed  to  him  that  if  any  mind  existed 
worth  the  name,  it  would  give  such  encouraging  signs  of 
life  before  many  days  passed  as  would  promise  success  to 
his  experiment.  He  felt  that  his  first  aim  must  be  to  estab- 
lish an  intimacy  that  would  permit  as  full  and  frank  an  ex- 
change of  thought  as  was  possible  between  people  so  dis- 
similar. 

While  he  tried  to  bring  himself  down  to  the  littleness 
of  her  daily  life,  he  determined  to  show  his  disapproval  of 
every  phase  of  its  meanness  as  far  as  he  could  without  of- 
fending her.  He  had  made  her  feel  that  he  condemned  her 
course  toward  Miss  Burton  that  evening,  and  he  had  meant 
to  do  so. 

She  resented  this  disapproval,  and  at  the  same  time  re- 
spected him  for  it.  Indeed  he  puzzled  her.  He  evidently 
sought  and  wished  for  her  society;  and  yet  as  they  walked 
back  and  forth,  even  though  she  did  not  look  at  him  when 
the  light  gave  her  the  opportunity  to  do  so,  she  felt  intui- 
tively that  he  did  not  enjoy  her  company.  She  saw  that  he 
was  laboring  hard  to  make  himself  agreeable;  but  his  small 
talk  had  not  the  familiar  flippancy  and  fluency  of  one  speak- 
ing in  his  native  tongue;  nor  was  his  manner  that  of  one 
who,  infatuated  with  her  beauty,  had  thrown  aside  all  other 
considerations. 

She  felt  that  the  man  at  her  side  measured  her,  and  un- 
derstood her  littleness  thoroughly. 

And  she  herself  had  a  growing  consciousness  of  insignifi- 
cance that  was  as  painful  as  it  was  novel.  Added  to  all  the 
humiliations  of  this  day  here  was  a  man,  not  so  very  much 
older  than  herself,  trying  to  come  down  to  her  level,  as  he, 
would  accommodate  his  language  to  a  child.  No  labored 
argument  could  have  revealed  her  ignorance  to  her  so 
clearly,  as  her  conscious  inability  to  follow  him  into  hi3 


MISS    MAYHEW   IS    PUZZLED  111 

ordinary  range  of  thought.  Unwittingly  he  had  demon- 
strated his  superiority  in  a  way  that  she  could  not  deny, 
however  much  she  might  be  inclined  to  resent  it.  And  yet 
he  treated  her  with  a  sort  of  respect,  and  occasionally  she 
saw  that  he  bent  his  eyes  upon  her  face  as  if  in  search  of 
something. 

After  a  transient  effort  to  ignore  everything  and  talk  in 
her  usual  superficial  manner,  she  became  more  and  more 
silent  and  oppressed,  and  at  last  said,  somewhat  abruptly: 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  am  weary,  and  I  imagine  you  are  too. 
I  think  I  will  say  good-night." 

UI  scarcely  wonder  that  you  are  fatigued.  You  have 
had  a  trying  day." 

"It  has  been  a  horrid  day,"  she  said,  emphatically. 

"It  might  have  ended  much  worse,  nevertheless." 

"Possibly,"  she  admitted  with  a  shrug. 

"You  have  more  reason  to  congratulate  yourself  than 
you  imagine,  Miss  Mayhew.  Even  that  disagreeable  souve- 
nir of  our  morning  peril,  your  lameness,  has  disappeared, 
and  you  might  have  been  maimed  for  life." 

"My  lameness,  like  my  courage,  was  chiefly  a  fraud  to 
begin  with,  and  soon  disappeared;  but  I  have  other  souve- 
nirs of  that  occasion  that  I  cannot  get  rid  of  so  easily." 

"If  I  am  one  of  them,  you  are  right,  Miss  Mayhew;  I 
shall  hold  you  to  our  agreement  this  morning.  You  put 
me  on  my  good  behavior — have  I  not  behaved  well?" 

"Yes,  better  than  I  have.  I  was  not  referring  to  you 
personally,  but  to  certain  memories." 

"We  agreed  to  let  bygones  be  bygones." 

"But  others  are  not  parties  to  this  agreement,  and  every 
reference  to  the  affair  is  odious  to  me. ' ' 

"I  shall  make  no  further  reference  to  it,  and  you  must 
be  fair  enough  not  to  punish  me  for  the  acts  of  others." 

"  You  also  despise  me  in  your  heart  for  my  course  toward 
Miss  Burton  this  evening." 

"If  I  despised  you  would  I  have  sought  your  society  this 
evening?" 


112  ^    FACE    ILLUMINED 

1 '  I  do  not  know.    I  don' t  understand  you,  if  you  will  per- 
mit my  bluntness. " 

4 ' Possibly  you  don't  understand  yourself,  Miss  Mayhew." 
'lI  understand  that  I  have  had  a  miserable  day,  and  I  hope 
1  may  never  see  another  like  it.     Good-night,  sir." 


NATURE'S   BROKEN  PROMISE  H3 


CHAPTER  XIII 

nature's  broken  promise 

VAN  BERGr  had  been  left  to  himself  but  a  little  time 
before  Stanton  and  Mr.  Burleigh  came  out  upon  the 
piazza,  and  the  three  gentlemen  sat  down  for  a  quiet 

chat. 

"Well,"  remarked  mine  host,  with  a  sigh  of  relief  such 
as  a  pilot  might  heave  after  taking  his  ship  round  a  perilous 
point;  "well,  thanks  to  Miss  Burton's  good  sense,  the  affair 
has  ended  without  any  trouble.  In  a  house  like  this,  'Satan 
is  finding  mischief  still'  whenever  my  back  is  turned,  and 
sometimes  he  threatens  to  get  up  a  row  right  under  my 
nose,  as  in  this  instance.  I  was  a 'blarsted  fool,'  as  our 
English  friends  have  it,  not  to  know  that  Mrs.  Chints's 
drama,  although  beginning  in  comedy,  might  end  in  the 
tragedy  of  my  losing  some  good  paying  boarders.  Still 
further  did  I  demonstrate  the  length  of  my  ears  by  even 
imagining  it  possible  that  Miss  Burton  would  take  five 
hundred,  or  five  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  any  such 
circumstances.  But  the  whole  thing  was  done  in  a  jiffy, 
and  Mrs.  Chints  was  possessed  to  have  her  'tableau  vivanV 
Lively  picture,  wasn't  it?  Still,  if  Miss  Mayhew,  when  ap- 
pealed to  by  Mrs.  Chints,  had  confirmed  my  doubts,  I  would 
have  tried  to  stop  the  nonsense  at  any  cost. " 

"Did  Miss  Mayhew  advise  the  step?"  asked  Stanton. 

"Oh,  no!  She  was  non-committal.  She  acted  as  if  it 
■were  none  of  her  affair,  save  as  it  might  afford  her  a  little 
amusement.  But  these  rows  are  no  light  matters  to  us  poor 
publicans,  who  must  please  every  one  and  keep  the  whole 


114  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

menagerie  in  order.  Mr.  Chints  was  swearing  up  and  down 
his  room  that  he  had  been  made  a  fool  of.  Mrs.  Chints  was 
for  leaving  to-morrow  morning,  declaring  that  she  would  not 
endure  such  airs  from  a  school-teacher.  They  are  rich  and 
have  a  number  of  friends  who  are  coming  soon,  and  so  my 
mind  was  full  of  'strange  oaths'  also,  at  my  prospective  loss, 
when  this  blessed  little  woman  appears,  taps  at  their  door, 
enters  like  the  angel  into  the  lion's  den,  and  shuts  their 
mouths  by  some  magic  all  her  own.  And  now  they're 
going  to  stay;  Mr.  Chints  will  give  the  five  hundred  to 
the  Children's  Aid  Society,  all  is  serene  and  I'm  happy, 
so  much  so  that  I'll  smoke  another  of  your  good  cigars, 
Mr.  Stanton." 

"Certainly,  half  a  dozen  if  you  wish.  How  do  you  im- 
agine she  quieted  the  unruly  beasts?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  she  got  around  them  through  the  child — 
somewhat  as  she  won  over  my  wife  this  afternoon  by  means 
of  our  cross  baby.  It's  teething,  you  know — and  yet  how 
should  you  young  chaps  know  anything  about  babies!  No 
matter,  your  time  will  come.  This  promenading  the  piazza 
with  lovely  creatures  who  have  been  half  the  afternoon  at 
their  toilets  is  all  very  nice;  but  wait  till  you  have  weath- 
ered innumerable  squalls  in  the  dead  of  night — then  you'll 
learn  that  teething- time  in  a  household  is  like  going  around 
Cape  Horn.  Well,  to  return  from  your  future  to  my  pres- 
ent. When  so  good-natured  a  man  as  I  am  gets  into  a  sym- 
pathetic mood  with  old  King  Herod,  you  can  imagine  what 
a  state  the  mother's  nerves  must  be  in  who  has  to  stand  it 
night  and  day.  But  as  Miss  Burton  had  been  commended 
to  my  care,  I  felt  that  I  was  in  duty  bound  to  introduce  her 
to  my  wife  and  show  her  some  attention.  So  I  said  to  my 
wife  this  afternoon,  'I'm  going  to  bring  a  young  lady  in  to 
see  you.'  'Do  you  think  I'm  in  a  condition  to  entertain 
company  ?'  she  asked,  with  a  faint  suggestion  of  hard  cider 
in  her  tone.  'Well,  my  dear,'  I  expostulated,  'it  was  just 
the  same  yesterday,  and  will  be  a  little  more  so  to-morrow, 
and  I  feel  that  I  shall  be  remiss  if  I  delay  any  longer.'    'Oh, 


NATURE'S    BROKEN    PROMISE  115 

very  well,'  she  said,  as  if  it  were  a  tooth  that  must  come  out 
sooner  or  later,  'since  the  matter  must  be  attended  to,  let  us 
have  it  over  at  once. '  But,  bless  you,  it  wasn't  over  till  sup- 
per-time. As  I  brought  the  young  lady  in,  the  baby  waked 
out  of  a  five  minutes'  nap  that  had  cost  about  an  hour's  rock- 
ing, and  I  thought  the  roof  would  come  off.  My  wife  looked 
cross  and  worried — well,  it  was  prose,  gentlemen,  prose — not 
the  poetry  of  life;  and  I  said  to  myself,  'I  suppose  I  have 
about  made  it  certain  that  this  young  woman  will  live  and 
die  an  old  maid  by  giving  her  this  glimpse  behind  the  scenes.' 
I  thought  the  ladies  could  get  on  better  without  me  than  with 
me,  so  I  bowed  myself  out,  glad  to  escape  the  din ;  and  I  sup- 
posed Miss  Burton  would  say  a  few  pleasant  things  in  the  di- 
rection of  Mrs.  Burleigh,  which  she,  poor  woman,  might  not 
be  able  to  hear,  and  then  she  would  bow  herself  out,  also 
glad  to  escape.  An  hour  and  a  half  later  I  went  back  to 
see  if  I  could  not  coax  my  wife  away  for  a  drive,  and  what 
do  you  suppose  1  saw  ?" 

"The  baby  in  convulsions,"  said  Stanton. 

"Give  it  up,"  added  Van  Berg. 

"Sweet  transformation  scene;  deep  hush;  my  wife  asleep 
in  her  rocking-chair,  the  baby  asleep  in  the  arms  of  Miss 
Burton,  who  held  up  a  warning  finger  at  me  to  be  quiet. 
But  the  mischief  was  done;  my  wife  started  up  and  was 
mortified  beyond  measure  that  she  had  treated  her  guest 
so  rudely.  The  good  fairy,  however,  was  so  genuinely  de- 
lighted that  she  had  quieted  the  baby  and  given  the  tired 
mother  a  little  rest,  that  we  had  to  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  she  found  pleasure  in  ways  that  are  a  trifle  uncommon. 
By  some  miracle  or  other  she  kept  the  baby  asleep,  and  then 
my  wife  and  I  tried  to  entertain  her  a  little,  but  we  were  the 
ones  that  were  entertained.  Before  we  knew  it,  the  supper- 
bell  rang,  and  then  I'm  blessed  if  the  little  chap  didn't  wake 
up  and  grin  at  us  all.  To  think  then  that  I  should  reward 
her  by  letting  Mr.  C  hints  slap  her  in  the  face  with  a  five- 
hundred- dollar  check!  I  guess  we'll  all  know  better  next 
time." 


116  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"Did  she  tell  you  anything  further  about  her  history  or 
her  connections?"  asked  Stanton. 

Mr.  Burleigh  stroked  his  beard  and  looked  rather  blank 
for  a  moment. 

"Now  I  think  of  it,"  he  ejaculated,  "I  be  hanged  if  she 
said  a  word  about  herself.  -  And  now  I  think  further  of  it, 
she  somehow  or  other  got  Mrs.  Burleigh  and  myself  a-talk- 
ing,  and  seemed  so  interested  in  us  and  what  we  said,  that 
I  be  hanged  again  if  we  didn't  tell  her  all  we  know  about 
ourselves." 

"She  impresses  every  one  as  being  remarkably  frank, 
and  yet  I  think  it  will  be  found  that  she  is  peculiarly  reti- 
cent in  regard  to  herself,"  remarked  Van  Berg  musingly. 
"Well,  it's  not  often  1  take  people  on  trust,  but  I  have 
given  this   lady  my  entire  respect  and  confidence." 

"I  assure  you  that  there  is  no  trust  in  this  business," 
said  Mr.  Burleigh,  emphatically.  "I  can't  afford  to  in- 
dulge in  sentiment,  gentlemen;  besides,  it  wouldn't  be 
any  more  becoming  in  me  than  in  Tom  Chints.  1  wouldn't 
take  an  unprotected,  unknown  female  into  my  house  if  she 
came  with  a  pair  of  wings.  But  Miss  Burton  brings  letters 
that  establish  her  character  as  a  lady  as  truly  as  that  of  any 
other  woman  in  the  house.  I  ought  to  have  prevented  this 
Chints  business,  but  then  five  hundred  is  a  nice  little  plum, 
and  before  I  pulled  my  slow  wits  together  the  thing  was 
done." 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Burleigh,"  remarked  Stanton,  "I  hear 
that  the  parties  who  are  now  at  my  friend  Van  Berg's  table 
are  soon  to  leave  for  the  seashore.  Can  you  give  me  three 
seats  there  after  their  departure  ?" 

"Certainly;  put  you  down  right  alongside  of  Miss 
Burton." 

"Perhaps  Van  Berg  feels  that  he  has  the  first  claim  to 
so  good  a  position  ?' ' 

JkNo,  Stanton,  I  shall  not  place  a  straw  in  your  way." 
"You  never  were  a  man  of  straw,  Van.     If  I  were  seek- 
ing more  than  to  enjoy  the  society  of  this  young  lady,  who 


NATURE'S   BROKEN  PROMISE  117 

seems  to  be  embodied  sunshine,  I  would  be  sorry  to  have 
you  place  yourself  in  the  way." 

44 Sunshine  brought  to  a  focus  kindles  even  green  wood," 
remarked  Van  Berg,  with  a  significant  nod  at  his  friend. 

14  Well,"  said  Mr.  Burleigh,  rising,  44if  I  had  not  found 
my  mate,  I'd  be  a  burr  that  that  little  woman  wouldn't  get 
rid  of  very  easily.  Good-night,  gentlemen.  I'll  give  either 
one  of  you  my  blessing." 

44 Good- night,  Van,"  said  Stanton,  also.  44I'm  not  going 
to  stay  and  listen  to  your  absurd  predictions.  Neither  shall 
I  permit  you  to  enjoy  all  by  yourself  the  delicate  wine  of 
that  woman's  wit  When  good  things  are  passing  round, 
I  propose  to  have  my  share.  My  presence  can't  hurt  your 
prospects." 

44  And  if  it  did,  Ik,  do  you  think  me  such  a  churl  as  to 
try  to  crowd  you  away  ?" 

4 'That's  magnanimous.  I  suppose  you  and  my  cousin 
can  manage  to  keep  the  peace  between  you." 

4 'I  think  the  change  will  be  far  more  disagreeable  to  Miss 
May  hew  than  to  me." 

44  You  are  very  polite  to  say  so.     Good-night." 

44  Well,"  mused  Van  Berg,  when  left  to  himself,  44I?ve 
made  progress  to-day  after  a  fashion.  We  have  been  quite 
thoroughly  introduced — in  fact  'thrown  together,'  as  fate 
and  all  her  friends  will  have  it.  I  might  have  been  weeks 
in  gaining  as  much  insight  into  her  character  as  circum- 
stances have  given  me  in  a  few  brief  hoars.  But  what  a 
miserable  revelation  she  has  made  of  herself — cowardice  this 
morning — fraud  this  afternoon,  and  cold  selfishness,  that  can 
amuse  itself  with  the  mortifications  and  misfortunes  of  oth- 
ers, this  evening.  This  is  the  moral  side  of  the  picture. 
But  when  I  came  to  4speer'  around  to  see  whether  she  had 
any  mind  or  real  culture,  the  exhibition  was  still  more  pitia- 
ble. Ye  gods !  that  a  girl  can  live  to  her  age  and  know  so 
little  that  is  worth  knowing!  She  knows  how  to  dress — that 
is,  how  to  enhance  her  physical  beauty;  and  that,  I  admit, 
is  a  great  deal.    As  far  as  it  goes  it  is  well.    But  of  the  taste 


118  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

of  a  beautiful  and,  at  the  same  time,  intellectual  and  highly 
cultivated  woman,  she  has  no  conception;  with  her  it  is  a 
question  of  flesh  and  blood  only." 

"I  wonder  if  it  will  ever  be  otherwise?  1  wonder  if  her 
marvellous  beauty,  which  is  now  like  a  budding  rose,  that 
partly  conceals  the  worm  in  its  heart,  will  soon,  like  the 
overblown  flower,  reveal  so  clearly  what  mars  its  life  that 
scarcely  anything  else  will  be  noticed.  What  a  fate  for  a 
man — to  be  tied  for  life  to  a  woman  who  will,  with  sure 
gradation,  pass  from  at  least  outward  beauty  to  utter  hide- 
ousness!  Beauty,  in  a  case  like  this,  is  but  a  mask  which 
time  or  the  loathsome  fingers  of  disease  would  surely  strip 
off;  and  then  what  an  object  would  confront  the  disen- 
chanted lover!  It  would  be  like  marrying  a  disguised 
death's-head.  Never  before  did  I  realize  how  essential  is 
mental  and  moral  culture  to  give  value  to  mere  external 
beauty. 

"And  yet  she  seems  to  have  a  kind  of  quickness  and 
aptness.  She  is  not  wanting  in  womanly  intuition.  1  still 
am  inclined  to  believe  she  has  been  dwarfed  by  circum- 
stances and  her  wretched  associations.  Her  mind  has  been 
given  no  better  means  of  development  than  the  knowledge 
of  her  beauty,  the  general  and  superficial  homage  that  it 
always  receives,  the  little  round  of  thought  that  centres 
about  self,  and  the  daily  question -of  dress.  That's  narrow- 
ing the  world  down  to  a  cage  large  enough  only  for  a  poll- 
parrot.  If  the  bird  within  has  a  parrot's  nature,  what  is 
the  use  of  opening  the  door  and  showing  it  larks  singing 
in  the  sky?  I  fear  that's  what  I'm  trying  to  do,  and  that 
I  shall  go  back  to  my  fall  work  with  a  meagre  portfolio  and 
a  grudge  against  nature  for  mocking  me  with  the  fairest 
broken  promise  ever  made. ' ' 


A    REVELATION  119 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A      REVELATION 

0 

THE  next  day  threatened  to  be  a  dreary  one,  for  the 
rain  fell  so  steadily  as  to  make  all  sunny,  out-of-door 
pleasures  impossible.  Many  looked  abroad  with  faces 
as  dismal  and  cloudy  as  the  sky;  for  the  number  of  those 
who  rise  above  their  circumstances  with  a  cheery  courage 
are  but  few.  Human  faces  can  shine,  although  the  sun  be 
clouded;  but,  as  a  rule,  the  shadow  falls  on  the  face  also, 
and  the  regal  spirit  succumbs  like  a  clod  of  earth. 

The  people  came  straggling  down  late  to  breakfast  in  the 
dark  morning,  and,  with  a  childish  egotism  that  considers 
only  self  and  immediate  desires,  the  lowering  weather  which 
meant  renewed  beauty  and  wealth  to  all  the  land,  was  be- 
rated as  if  it  were  a  small  spite  against  the  handful  of  people 
at  the  Lake  House.  Van  Berg  heard  Ida  Mayhew  exclaim- 
ing against  the  clouds  as  if  this  spite  were  aimed  at  herself 
only. 

11  Some  of  her  friends  might  not  venture  from  the  city," 
she  said. 

4 'The  youths  are  not  venturesome,  then,"  remarked  Stan- 
ton, who  never  lost  an  opportunity  to  tease. 

11  Of  course  they  don't  wish  to  get  wet,"  she  pouted. 

14  And  yet  I'll  wager  any  amount  that  they  are  not  of  the 
'salt  of  the  earth'  in  any  scriptural  sense.  Well,  they  had 
better  stay  in  town,  for  this  would  be  an  instance  of  'much 
ventured,  nothing  gained-'  " 

"You  remind  me  of  a  certain  iox  who  could  not  say 


120  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

enough  hard   things   about   the   grapes   that   were   out  of 
reach.     But  mark  my  words,   Mr.   Sibley  will  come,  if  it 

pours. ' ' 

"He  wouldn't  risk  the  spoiling  of  his  clothes  for  any 

woman  living." 

"You  judge  him  by  yourself.  Oh,  dear,  how  shall  I  get 
through  this  long,  horrible  day!  You  men  can  smoke  like 
bad  chimneys  through  a  storm,  but  for  me  there  is  no  re- 
source to-day  but  a  dull  novel  that  I've  read  once  before. 
Let  me  see,  I'll  read  an  hour  and  sleep  three,  and  then  it 
will  be  time  to  dress  for  dinner.  Oh,  good-morning,  Mr. 
Van  Berg,"  she  said  to  the  artist  who  had  been  listening 
to  her  while  apparently  giving  close  attention  to  Mrs.  May- 
hew's  interminable  tirade  against  rainy  days;  "I  have  just 
been  envying  you  gentlemen  who  can  kill  stupid  hours  by 
smoking." 

"I  admit  that  it  is  almost  as  bad  as  sleeping." 

"I  see  that  you  have  a  homily  prepared  on  improving 
the  time,  so  I  shall  escape  at  once." 

On  the  stairs  she  met  Miss  Burton,  who  was  descending 
with  a  breezy  swiftness  as  if  she  were  making  a  charge  on 
the  general  gloom  and  sullenness  of  the  day. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Mayhew,"  she  said;  "I'm  glad  to 
see  you  looking  so  well  after  the  severe  shaking  up  you  had 
yesterday.  You  would  almost  tempt  one  to  believe  that 
rough  usage  is  sometimes  good  for  us." 

"I  have  no  such  belief,  I  assure  you.  Yesterday  was 
bad  enough,  but  to-day  promises  to  be  worse.  I  was  going 
to  make  up  a  boating  party,  but  what  can  one  do  when  the 
water  is  overhead  instead  of  under  the  keel?" 

"Scores  of  things,"  was  the  cheery  reply.  "I'm  going 
to  have  a  good  time." 

"I'm  going  to  sleep,"  said  Ida,  passing  on. 

"Miss  Burton,"  said  Stanton,  joining  her  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  ltI  perceive,  even  from  your  manner  of  descend- 
ing to  our  lower  world,  that  you  are  destined  to  vanquish 
the  dulness  of  this  rainy  day.     Don't  you  wish  an  ally  ?" 


A    REVELATION  121 

"Would  you  be  an  ally,  Mr.  Stanton,  if  you  saw  I  was 
destined  to  be  vanquished?" 

41  Of  course  I  would." 

"Look  in  the  parlor  then.  There  are  at  least  a  dozen 
ladies  already  vanquished.  They  are  oppressed  by  the 
foul- fiend,  ennui.  Transfer  your  chivalric  offer  to  them 
and  deliver  them." 

"Stanton,"  laughed  Van  Berg,  "you  are  in  honor  bound 
to  devote  yourself  to  those  oppressed  ladies." 

"The  prospect  is  so  dark  and  depressing  that  I  shall  at 
least  cheer  myself  first  with  the  light  of  a  cigar." 

"And  so  your  chivalry  will  end  in  smoke,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  Miss  Burton,  the  smoke  of  battle,  where  you  are 
concerned." 

"1  fear  your  wit  is  readier  than  your  sword.  The  soldier 
that  boasts  how  he  would  overwhelm  some  other  foe  than 
the  one  before  him  loses  credit  to  the  degree  that  her 
protests." 

"You  are  more  exacting,  Miss  Burton,  than  the  lady 
who  threw  her  glove  down  among  the  lions.  What  chance 
would  Hercules  himself  have  of  lifting  those  twelve  heavy 
females  out  of  the  dumps  ?' ' 

"It's  not  what  we  do,  but  what  we  attempt,  that  shows 
our  spirit." 

"Then  I  shall  expect  to  see  you  attempt  great  things." 

"I'm  only  a  woman." 

"And  I'm  only  a  man." 

"Only  a  man!  what  greater  vantage-ground  could  one 
have  than  to  be  a  man  ?' ' 

"The  advantage  is  not  so  uncommon  that  one  need  be 
unduly  elated/'  said  Stanton  with  a  shrug.  "I  forget  how 
many  hundred  millions  of  us  there  are.  But  I'm  curious  to 
see  how  you  will  set  about  rendering  the  hues  of  this  leaden 
day  prismatic." 

"Only  by  being  the  innocent  cause  of  your  highly  col- 
ored language,  I  imagine." 

6*Oh,  dear,"  exclaimed  a  little  boy  petulantly,  as  he 

6— Roe— XII 


122  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

strolled  through  the  hall  and  looked  out  at  the  steady  down- 
fall of  rain.     "Oh,  dear!     Why  can't  it  stop  raining?" 

"There's  the  philosophy  of  our  time  for  you  in  a  nut- 
shell," said  Yan  Berg.  "When  a  human  atom  wants  any- 
thing, what  business  has  the  universe  to  stand  in  its  way?" 

"But  have  you  no  better  philosophy  to  offer  the  discon- 
solate little  fellow,  Mr.  Yan  Berg?"  Miss  Burton  asked. 

"Now,  Yan,  it's  your  turn.  .Remember,  Miss  Burton, 
he  has  the  same  vantage-ground  that  I  have.  Indeed  he's 
half  an  inch  taller." 

"The  world  long  ago  learned  better  than  to  measure  men 
by  inches,  Mr.  Stanton." 

"Alas,  Miss  Burton,"  said  Yan  Berg;  "the  best  phi- 
losophy  I  have  is  this:  when  it  rains,  let  it  rain." 

"And  thus  I'm  privileged  to  meet  representatives  of 
those  two  ancient  and  honorable  schools,  the  Stoic  and 
Epicurean,  and  you  both  think,  I  fear,  that  if  Xanthippe 
had  founded  a  school,  my  philosophy  would  also  be  defined. 
But  perhaps  you  will  think  better  of  me  if  I  tell  that  little 
fellow  a  story  to  pass  the  time  for  him.  What's  the  matter, 
little  folk?"  she  asked,  for  two  or  three  more  small  clouded 
faces  had  gathered  at  the  door. 

"Matter  enough,"  said  the  boy.  "This  horrid  old  rain 
keeps  us  in  the  house,  where  we  can't  do  anything  or  stay 
anywhere.  We  mustn't  play  in  the  parlor,  we  mustn't  make 
a  noise  in  the  halls,  we  mustn't  run  on  the  piazzas.  I'd  like 
to  live  in  a  world  where  there  was  some  place  for  boys." 

"Poor  child,"  said  Miss  Burton;  "this  rain  is  as  bad  for 
you  as  the  deluge  to  Noah's  dove,  it  has  left  you  no  refuge 
for  the  sole  of  your  foot.  Will  you  come  with  me?  No 
one  has  said  you  must  not  hear  a  jolly  story." 

"You  won't  tell  me  about  any  good  little  boys  who  died 
when  they  were  as  big  as  I  am  ?" 

"I'll  keep  my  word— it  shall  be  a  jolly  story." 
"May  we  hear  it  too?"  asked  the  other  children. 
"Yes,  all  of  you." 
"Where  shall  we  go?" 


A    REVELATION  123 

"We  won't  disturb  any  one  in  the  far  corner  of  the 
parlor  by  the  piano.  If  you  know  of  any  other  little  people, 
you  can  bring  them  there,  too,"  and  they  each  darted  off  in 
the  search  of  especial  cronies. 

"May  we  not  hear  the  story  also  ?"  asked  Stanton. 

"No,  indeed,  I  may  be  able  to  interest  children,  but  not 
philosophers." 

uThen  we  will  go  and  meditate,"  said  Van  Berg. 

41  Yes,"  she  added,  "and  in  accordance  with  a  New  York 
custom  of  great  antiquity,  made  familiar  to  you,  no  doubt, 
by  that  grave  historian  Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  who  gives 
several  graphic  accounts  of  such  cloudy  ruminations  on  the 
part  of  your  city's  great-grandfathers." 

"I  fear  you  think  that  the  worshipful  Peter  Stuyvesant's 
counsellors  indulged  in  more  tobacco  than  thought,  and  that 
the  majority  of  them  had  as  few  ideas  as  one  of  Mr.  Bur- 
leigh's chimneys,"  said  Van  Berg.  "And  you  regard  us 
as  the  direct  descendants  of  these  men,  whose  lives  were 
crowned  with  smoke- wreaths  only." 

"Now,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  you  prove  yourself  to  be  a  phi- 
losopher of  a  modern  school,  you  draw  your  inductions  so 
far  and  wide  from  your  diminutive  premise." 

"Well,  Miss  Burton,  you  stand  in  very  favorable  con- 
trast with  us  poor  mortals.  We  are  going  out  to  add  to  the 
clouds  that  lower  over  the  world,  while  you  are  trying  to 
banish  them." 

"And  if,  after  helping  the  children  toward  the  close  of 
this  dismal  day,  your  heart  should  relent  toward  us," 
added  Stanton,  "you  will  find  two  worthy  objects  of  your 
charity." 

"Oh,  what  a  falling  off  is  here!"  she  exclaimed,  follow- 
ing the  impatient  children.  lt Knights  at  first,  then  phi- 
losophers, and  now  objects  of  charity." 

Miss  Burton  evidently  kept  her  word,  and  told  a  "jolly 
story,"  for  the  friends  saw  through  the  parlor  windows  that 
the  circle  around  her  grew  larger  and  more  hilarious  con- 
tinually.    Then  would  follow  moments  of  rapt  and  eager 


124  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

attention,  showing  that  the  tale  gained  in  excitement  and 
interest  what  it  lost  in  humor.  Young  people,  who  did  not 
like  to  be  classed  with  children,  one  by  one  yielded  to  the 
temptation.  There  was  life  and  enjoyment  in  that  corner 
and  dulness  elsewhere,  and  nothing  is  so  attractive  in  the 
world  as  genuine  and  joyous  life. 

Even  elderly  ladies  looked  wistfully  up  at  the  occasional 
bursts  of  contagious  merriment,  and  then  sighed  that  they 
had  lost  the  power  of  laughing  so  easily. 

At  last  the  marvellous  legend  came  to  an  end  amid  a 
round  of  prolonged  applause. 

''Another,  another!"  was  the  general  outcry. 

But  Miss  Burton  had  observed  that  the  ladies  and  gentle- 
men present  seemed  inclined  to  be  friendly  toward  the  young 
people's  fun,  and  therefore  she  broached  another  scheme  of 
pleasure  that  would  vary  the  entertainment. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  "your  papas  and  mammas  and  the 
other  good  people  will  not  object  to  an  old-fashioned  Vir- 
ginia reel. ' ' 

A  shout  of  welcome  greeted  this  proposition. 

Miss  Burton  raised  her  finger  so  impressively  that  there 
was  an  instant  hush.  Indeed,  she  seemed  to  have  gained 
entire  control  of  the  large  and  miscellaneous  group  which 
surrounded  her. 

"We  will  draw  up  a  petition,"  she  said;  "for  we  best 
enjoy  our  own  rights  and  pleasures  when  respecting  those 
of  others.  This  little  boy  and  girl  shall  take  the  petition 
around  to  all  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  the  room,  and 
this  shall  be  the  petition: 

"  'Dear  lady  and  hind  sir:  Please  don't  object  to  our 
dancing  a   Virginia  reel  in  the  parlor.1 

"All  who  wish  to  dance  can  sign  it.  Now  we  will  go  to 
the  office  and  draw  up  the  petition."  And  away  they  all 
started,  the  younger  children,  wild  with  glee,  capering  in 
advance. 

Stanton  threw  away  his  cigar  and  met  her  at  the  office 
register. 


A    REVELATION  125 

"Gentle  shepherdess,"  he  asked,  "whither  are  you  lead- 
ing your  flock  ?" 

11  How  behind  the  age  you  are!"  she  replied.  "Can  you 
not  see  that  the  flock  is  leading  me  ?" 

"If  I  were  a  wolf  I  would  not  trouble  the  flock  but  would 
carry  off  the  shepherdess — to  a  game  of  billiards." 

"What,  then,  would  become  of  the  flock?" 

"That's  a  question  that  never  troubles  a  wolf." 

"A  wolfish  answer  truly.  I  think,  however,  you  have 
reversed  the  parable,  and  are  but  a  well-meaning  sheep  that 
has  donned  a  wolf's  skin,  and  so  we  will  put  you  to  the 
test.  We  young  people  will  give  you  a  chance  to  draw  up 
our  petition,  which,  if  you  would  save  your  character,  you 
must  do  at  once  with  sheep-like  docility,  asking  no  ques- 
tions and  causing  no  delay.  There,  that  will  answer;  very 
sheepishly  done,  but  no  sheep's  eyes,  if  you  please,"  she 
added,  as  Stanton  pretended  to  look  up  to  her  for  inspira- 
tion, while  writing.  "JSTow,  all  sign.  I  think  I  can  trust 
you,  sir,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  flock.  Here,  my  little  man 
and  woman,  go  to  each  of  the  ladies  and  gentlemen,  make 
a  bow  and  a  courtesy,  and  present  the  petition." 

"May  I  not  gambol  with  the  shepherdess  in  the  coming 
pastoral?"  asked  Stanton. 

"Nc,  indeed!  You  are  much  too  old;  besides,  I  am 
going  to  play.     You  may  look  gravely  on." 

Every  one  in  the  parlor  smilingly  assented  to  the  odd 
little  couple  that  bobbed  up  and  down  before  them,  and 
moved  out  of  the  way  for  the  dancers.  The  petitioners 
therefore  soon  returned  and  were  welcomed  with  ap- 
plause. 

"Now  go  to  the  inner  office  and  present  the  petition  to 
Mr.  Burleigh,"  said  Miss  Burton. 

"Hollo!"  cried  that  gentleman,  looking  around  with  a 
great  show  of  savagery,  as  the  little  girl  pulled  the  skirt  of 
his  coat  to  attract  his  attention;  " where' s  King  Herod?" 

"We  wish  to  try  another  method  with  the  children," 
answered    Miss    Burton.      "Will   it   please   you    therefore 


126  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

graciously  to  read  the  petition.     All  in  the  parlor   have 
assented." 

"My  goodness  gracious — " 
"No  swearing,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"Woman  has  been  too  many  for  man  ever  since  she  got 
him  into  trouble  by  eating  green  apples,"  ejaculated  Mr. 
Burleigh  with  a  despairing  gesture.  "Why  do  you  mock 
me  with  petitions  ?  There  is  the  power  behind  the  throne," 
pointing  to  Miss  Burton. 

"Take  your  places,  small  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  she 
cried.  "That's  Mr.  Burleigh's  way  of  saying  yes.  While 
you  are  forming,  I'll  play  a  few  bars  to  give  you  the  time." 
Did  she  bewitch  the  piano  that  it  responded  so  wonder- 
fully to  her  touch?  Where  had  she  found  such  quaint, 
dainty  music,  simple  as  the  old-fashioned  dance  itself,  so 
that  the  little  ones  could  keep  time  to  it,  and  yet  pleasing 
Van  Berg's  fastidious  ear  with  its  unhackneyed  and  refined 
melody?  But  the  marked  and  marvellous  feature  in  her 
playing  was  an  airy  rollicsomeness  that  was  as  irresistible 
as  a  panic.  Old  ladies'  heads  began  to  bob  over  their  fancy 
work  most  absurdly.  Two  quartets  of  elderly  gentlemen  at 
whist  were  evidently  beginning  to  play  badly,  their  feet 
meantime  tapping  the  floor  in  a  most  unwonted  manner. 

"Were  I  as  dead  as  Julius  Caesar  I  could  not  resist  that 
quickstep,"  cried  Stanton;  and  he  rushed  over  to  his  aunt, 
Mrs.  Mayhew,  and  dragged  her  into  line. 

"What,  in  the  name  of  all  the  witches  of  Salem,  has  got 
into  that  piano!"  cried  Mr.  Burleigh,  bursting  into  the 
parlor  from  the  office,  with  his  pen  stuck  behind  his  ear, 
and  his  hair  brushed  ur  perpendicularly.  "There's  sorcery 
in  the  air.  I'm  practiced  upon—  Keep  still?  No,  not  if  I 
was  nailed  up  in  one  of  the  soldier's  'wooden  overcoats.' 
The  world  is  transformed,  transfigured,  transmogrified,  and 
'things  are  not  what  they  seem!'  Here's  a  blooming  girl 
who'll  dance  with  me,"  and  he  seized  the  hand  of  a  white- 
haired  old  lady  who  yielded  to  the  contagion  so  far  as  to 
take  a  place  in  the  line  beside  her  granddaughter. 


A    REVELATION  127 

Indeed,  in  a  few  moments,  all  who  had  been  familiar 
with  the  pastime  in  their  youth,  caught  the  joyous  infec- 
tion, and  lengthened  out  the  lines,  each  new  accession  being 
greeted  with  shouts  and  laughter. 

The  scene  approached  in  character  that  described  by 
Hawthorne  as  occurring  in  the  grounds  of  the  Villa  Bor- 
ghese  when  Donatello,  with  a  simple  "tambourine,"  pro- 
duced music  of  such  "indescribable  potency"  that  sallow, 
haggard,  half-starved  peasants,  French  soldiers,  scarlet- 
costumed  contadinas,  Swiss  guards,  German  artists,  English 
lords,  and  herdsmen  from  the  Campagna,  all  "joined  hands 
in  the  dance"  which  the  musician  himself  led  with  the 
frisky,  frolicsome  step  of  the  mythical  faun. 

In  the  latter  instance  it  was  a  contagious,  mad  excite- 
ment easily  possible  among  hot-blooded  peoples  and  wan- 
dering pleasure-seekers,  the  primal  laws  of  whose  being  are 
impulse  and  passion.  That  the  joyous  exhilaration  which 
filled  Mr.  Burleigh's  parlor  was  akin  to  the  wild,  half 
pagan  frenzy  that  the  great  master  of  fiction  imagined  as 
seizing  upon  the  loiterers  near  the  Villa  Borghese  cannot 
be  denied.  Both  phases  of  excitement  would  spring  natu- 
rally from  the  universal  craving  for  pleasurable  life  and 
activity.  The  one,  however,  was  a  rank  growth  from  a  rank 
soil — the  passionate  ebullition  of  passion-swayed  natures; 
the  other  was  inspired  by  the  magnetic  spirit  of  a  New 
England  maiden  who,  by  some  law  of  her  nature  or  conse- 
cration of  her  life,  devoted  every  power  of  her  being  to  the 
vivifying  of  others,  and  the  frolic  she  had  instigated  was  as 
free  from  the  grosser  elements  as  the  tossing  wind-flowers 
of  her  native  hills.  With  the  exception  perhaps  of  Van 
Berg,  she  had  impressed  every  one  as  possessing  a  pecul- 
iarly sunny  temperament.  Be  this  as  it  may,  it  certainly 
appeared  true  that  she  found  her  happiness  in  enlivening 
others;  and  it  is  difficult  even  to  imagine  how  much  a  gifted 
mind  can  accomplish  in  this  respect  when  every  faculty  is 
devoted  to  the  ministry  of  kindness. 

This  view  of  Miss  Burton's  character  would  account  in 


128  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

part,  but  not  wholly,  for  the  power  she  exercised  over 
others.  Van  Berg  thought  he  at  times  detected  a  sup- 
pressed excitement  in  her  manner.  A  light  sometimes  flick- 
ered in  her  deep  blue  eyes  that  might  have  been  caused  by 
a  consuming  and  hidden  fire,  rather  than  by  genial  and 
joyous  thoughts. 

As  he  watched  her  now  through  the  parlor  window,  her 
eyes  were  burning,  her  face  reminded  him  of  a  delicate 
flame,  and  her  whole  being  appeared  concentrated  into  the 
present  moment.  In  its  vivid  life  it  seemed  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  faces  he  ever  saw;  but  the  thought  occurred 
again  and  again — "If  the  features  of  Ida  May  hew  could  be 
lighted  up  like  that  I'd  give  years  of  my  lifetime  to  be  able 
to  paint  the  beauty  that  would  result. ' ' 

Just  at  this  moment  he  saw  that  young  lady  approach 
the  parlor  entrance  with  an  expression  of  wonder  on  her 
face.     He  immediately  joined  her,  and  she  said : 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  what  miracle  has  caused  this  scene?" 

"Come  with  me  and  I'll  show  you,"  he  answered,  and 
he  led  her  to  the  window  opposite  to  Miss  Burton,  where 
she  sat  at  the  piano.  "There,"  he  said,  "is  the  miracle — 
a  gifted,  magnetic,  unselfish  woman  devoting  herself  wholly 
to  the  enjoyment  of  others.  She  has  created  more  sunshine 
this  dismal  day  than  we  have  had  in  the  house  since  I've 
been  here.     Is  not  that  face  there  a  revelation?" 

"A  revelation  of  what?"  she  asked  with  rising  color. 

' '  Of  the  possibilities  of  the  human  face  to  grow  in  beauty 
and  power,  if  kindled  by  a  noble  and  animating  mind.  Ye 
gods!"  cried  the  artist,  expressing  the  excitement  which  he 
felt  in  common  with  others  in  accordance  with  the  law  of  his 
own  ruling  passion,  "but  I  would  give  much  to  reproduce 
that  face  on  canvas;"  and  then  he  added  with  a  despairing 
gesture,  "but  who  can  paint  flame  and  spirit?" 

After  a  moment  he  exclaimed,  with  flushed  cheeks  and 
flashing  eyes:  "It  appears  to  me  that  if  kindled  by  such  a 
mind  as  that  which  is  burning  in  yonder  face,  I  could  at- 
tempt anything  and  accomplish  everything.      Limitations 


A    REVELATION  129 

melt  away  before  a  growing  sense  of  power.  What  an  in- 
spiration a  woman  can  be  to  a  man,  or  what  a  millstone 
about  his  neck,  according  to  what  she  is!     Ah! — " 

The  cause  of  this  exclamation  cannot  be  explained  in  the 
brief  time  that  it  occurred.  Stanton  had  happened  at  that 
moment  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Van  Berg  and  his  cousin,  and 
he  called  quite  loudly: 

"Harold,  bring  Miss  Mayhew  in  and  join  us." 

At  the  same  instant  Mr.  Burleigh's  heavy  step,  passing 
near  the  piano,  jarred  down  a  picture  that  was  hung  inse- 
curely, and  it  fell  with  a  crash  at  Miss  Burton's  side.  Was 
it  the  shock  of  the  falling  picture  upon  unprepared  and 
overstrained  nerves,  or  what  was  it  that  produced  the  in- 
stantaneous change  in  the  joyous-appearing  maiden  ?  Her 
hands  dropped  nerveless  from  the  keys.  So  great  was  the 
pallor  that  swept  over  her  face  that  it  suggested  to  the  ar- 
tist the  sudden  extinguishment  of  a  lamp.  She  bowed  her 
head  and  trembled  a  moment  and  then  escaped  by  a  side 
door. 

Van  Berg  walked  hastily  to  the  main  entrance,  thinking 
she  was  ill,  but  only  saw  her  vanishing  up  the  stairway  with 
hasty  steps.  Many  of  the  dancers,  in  their  kindly  solici- 
tude, had  tried  to  intercept  her,  but  had  been  too  late.  It 
would  seem  that  all  ascribed  her  indisposition  to  a  nervous 
shock. 

"It  is  evident,"  said  the  lady  who  had  been  conversing 
with  her  when  she  had  acted  in  a  like  manner  on  the  first 
day  of  her  arrival,  "that  she  possesses  a  highly  sensitive  or- 
ganism, which  suddenly  gives  way  when  subjected  to  a  strain 
too  severe;' '  and  she  reminded  Van  Berg  of  her  former  mani- 
festation of  weakness. 

He  accepted  this  view  as  the  most  natural  explanation 
that  could  be  given. 


130  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTEK   XV 

CONTRASTS 

GENUINE  and  genial  were  the  words  of  sympathy  that 
were  expressed  on  every  side  for  the  young  lady 
who  had  been  transforming  the  dull  day  into  one 
of  exceptional  jollity.  A  deputation  of  ladies  called  upon 
her,  but  from  within  her  locked  door  she  confirmed  the  im- 
pression that  it  was  a  nervous  shock,  and  that  a  few  hours 
of  perfect  quiet  would  restore  her. 

And  it  would  seem  that  she  was  right,  for  she  came  down 
to  supper  apparently  as  genial  and  smiling  as  ever.  Beyond 
a  slight  pallor  and  a  little  fulness  about  her  eyes,  Van  Berg 
could  detect  no  trace  of  her  sudden  indisposition. 

The  remainder  of  the  day  was  passed  more  quiet  by  the 
guests  of  the  Lake  House,  but  the  force  of  Miss  Burton's 
example  did  not  spend  itself  at  once,  and  on  the  part  of 
some  there  was  developed  quite  a  marked  disposition  to 
make  kindly  efforts  to  promote  the  enjoyment  of  others. 
The  unwonted  exhilaration  with  which  she  had  inspired 
her  fellow  guests  was  something  they  could  scarcely  ac- 
count for,  and  yet  the  means  employed  had  been  so  simple 
and  were  so  plainly  within  the  reach  of  all,  as  to  suggest 
that  a  genial  manner  and  an  unselfish  regard  for  others 
were  the  only  conditions  required  to  enable  each  one  to  do 
something  to  brighten  every  cloudy  day. 

After  Miss  Burton's  departure,  the  young  people  had 
the  dance  to  themselves,  their  elders  resuming  the  avoca- 
tions and  soberer  pleasures  from  which  they  had  been  swept 
by  an  impulse  evoked  from  their  half- forgotten  youth. 


CONTRASTS  131 

When  Van  Berg  joined  Miss  May  hew  again,  he  found  her 
mother  and  Stanton  trying  to  explain  how  it  all  came  about. 

"There  is  no  use  of  multiplying  words,"  concluded  Stan- 
ton; "Miss  Burton  is  gifted  with  a  mind,  and  she  uses  it  for 
the  benefit  of  others  instead  of  tasking  it  solely  on  her  own 
account,  which  is  the  general  rule." 

At  this  moment  a  letter  was  handed  to  Mrs.  Mayhew, 
which  she  read  with  a  slight  frown  and  passed  to  her  daugh- 
ter. It  was  from  Mr.  Mayhew,  and  contained  but  a  brief 
sentence  to  the  effect  that  his  absence  would  probably  be  a 
relief,  and  therefore  he  would  not  spend  the  coming  Sabbath 
with  them. 

Ida  did  not  show  the  superficial  vexation  that  her  mother 
manifested,  and  which  was  more  assumed  than  real.  Her 
cheek  paled  a  little,  and  she  instinctively  glanced  at  Van 
Berg  as  if  her  sudden  sense  of  guilt  were  apparent  to  his 
keen  eyes.  He  was  looking  at  her  searchingly,  and  she 
turned  away  with  a  quick  flush,  nor  did  she  give  him  a 
chance  to  speak  with  her  again  that  day;  but  his  words — 
"what  a  millstone  about  a  man's  neck  a  woman  can  be!" — 
haunted  her  continually.  Still  oftener  rose  before  her  Miss 
Burton's  flushed  and  kindled  face,  and  the  artist's  emphatic 
assertion  of  the  power  of  mind  and  character  to  add  to  native 
beauty.  Had  she  not  been  a  millstone  about  her  father's 
neck  ?  Was  there  not  a  fatal  flaw  in  the  beauty  of  which 
she  was  so  proud,  that  spoiled  it  for  eyes  that  were  critical 
and  unblincled  ? 

Oppressed  by  these  thoughts  and  being  in  no  mood  for 
her  cousin's-  banter,  or  the  artist's  society,  which  always 
seemed  to  render  her  more  uncomfortable,  she  was  glad  to 
escape  to  the  solitude  of  her  own  room. 

Another  "revelation"  was  slowly  dawning  upon  her 
mind,  namely — just  what  she,  Ida  Mayhew,  was.  A  wo- 
man is  an  "inspiration"  or  a  "millstone  according  to  what 
she  is,"  this  stranger,  this  disturber  of  her  peace,  from 
whom  it  seemed  she  could  not  escape,  had  not  only  as- 
serted but  proved  by  showing  her  a  lady  she  would  have 


132  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

passed  as  plain  and  insignificant,  but  who  nevertheless  pos- 
sessed some  sweet  potency  that  won  and  cheered  all  hearts, 
and  who,  she  was  compelled  to  admit,  was  positively  beau- 
tiful as  she  sat  at  the  piano,  radiant  with  her  purpose  to 
cause  gladness  in  others.  Miss  Burton  had  created  sun- 
shine enough  to  enliven  the  dismal  day,  and  had  quickened 
a  hundred  pulses  with  pleasure.  She  had  been  a  burden 
even  to  herself. 

Everything,  from  the  artist's  first  disturbing  frown  to 
the  present  hour,  had  been  preparing  the  way  for  the  sharp 
and  painful  contrast  that  circumstances  had  forced  upon  her 
attention  to-day. 

But  the  thought  that  troubled  her  most  was  that  he  saw 
this  contrast  more  plainly  than  it  was  possible  for  her  to 
see  it. 

Vaguely,  and  yet  with  some  approach  to  the  truth,  her 
intuition  began  to  reveal  to  her  the  attitude  of  his  mind 
toward  her.  She  believed  that  he  was  attracted,  but  also 
saw  that  he  was  not  blinded  by  her  beauty.  She  was  al- 
ready beginning  to  revise  her  first  impression  that  he  was 
shutting  his  eyes  to  every  other  consideration,  as  she  had 
seen  so  many  do  in  their  brief  infatuation.  His  manner 
was  not  that  of  one  who  is  taking  counsel  of  passion  only. 
Those  ominous  words — ''according  to  what  she  is" — indi- 
cated that  he  was  looking  into  her  mind,  her  character. 
With  a  sense  of  dismay,  she  was  awakening  to  a  knowledge 
of  the  dwarfed  ugliness  her  beauty  but  partially  concealed, 
and  she  felt  that  he,  from  the  first,  had  been  discovering 
those  defects  of  which  she  had  been  scarcely  conscious  her- 
self. She  began  to  fear  that  her  cousin's  words  would  prove 
true,  and  that  he  would  not  fall  helplessly  in  love  with  her. 
Therefore  the  opportunity  to  retaliate  and  to  punish  him  for 
all  the  mortifications  that  he  had  occasioned  her,  would  never 
come.  On  the  contrary,  he  might  inflict  upon  her,  any  day, 
the  crowning  humiliation  of  declaring,  by  indifference  of 
manner,  that  he  had  found  her  out  so  thoroughly,  as  to 
entertain  for  her  only  feelings  of  disgust  and  repugnance. 


CONTRASTS 


133 


"Well,"  she  concluded,  recklessly,  "why  should  I  care 
what  he  thinks  ?  I  have  lived  thus  far  without  his  good 
opinion,  and  I  can  live  a  little  longer,  I  imagine.  I  have 
had  a  good  time  for  eighteen  years  after  my  own  fashion, 
and  I  will  just  ignore  him  and  have  a  good  time  still.  In- 
deed I'll  shock  him  to-night  and  to-morrow  so  thoroughly 
that  he  won't  come  near  me  ugain;  for  I'm  sick  of  his  su- 
perior airs.  I'm  sick  of  his  learned  talk  about  books,  pic- 
tures, and  politics,  as  if  a  young  society  girl  were  expected 
to  know  about  these  things;  and  as  for  his  small  talk,  it  re- 
minded me  of  an  elephant  trying  to  dance  a  jig;"  and  she 
sprang  up  with  a  snatch  of  song  from  the  opera  bouffe,  and 
began  her  toilet  for  dinner. 

.  In  a  few  moments,  however,  she  dropped  her  hairbrush 
absently,  and  forgot  to  look  at  her  fair  face  in  the  mirror. 
"I  wonder,"  she  mused,  ;tif  he  and  Miss  Burton  ever 
met  before  they  came  here  ?     It  has  been  a  strange  coinci- 
dence that  she  should  have  felt  such  a  sudden  indisposition 
in  each  instance  at  the  same  moment  that  his  name  was  casu- 
ally mentioned.     True,  on  both  occasions,  events  occurred 
that  might  account  for  the  sudden  giving  way  of  her  nerves, 
but  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  she  has  some  association  with 
him  that  the  rest  of  us  know  nothing  about.     She  certainly 
seems  more  interested  in  him  than  in  any  one  else  in  the 
house,  for  I  have  several  times  noticed  peculiar  and  furtive 
glances  toward  him;  besides  they  are  evidently  growing  to 
be  very  good  friends.     As  for  Ik,  he  seems  quite  inclined 
to  enter  upon  a  serious  flirtation  with  her.     But  what  do  I 
care  for  either  of  them!     Mr.  Sibley  will  be  here  to-night, 
and  I'll  enable  this  artist  to  bring  his  investigations  to  a 
close  at  once.     I  am  what  I  am,  and  that's  the  end  of  it, 
and  I  won't  mope  and  have  a  stupid  time  for  anybody,  and 
certainly  not  for  him.      Let  him  marry  the  school-ma'am. 
She  can  talk  books,  art,  and  all  the  "isms"  going,  to  his 
heart's  content.     I,  as  well  as  Miss  Burton,  have  my  opin- 
ion of  flirtiDg,  and  know  from  some  little  experience  that  it 
is  jolly  good  fun. 


134  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

**  'He  can  go  his  way,  I'll  go  mine; 

E'en  though  he  frowns,  the  sun  will  shine.'  " 

And  with  a  careless  gesture  she  affected  to  dismiss  him  from 
her  thoughts. 

To  judge  from  her  manner  that  evening  and  the  follow- 
ing day,  one  might  suppose  that  she  succeeded  very  fully. 
Sibley,  with  an  unwonted  venturesomeness,  did  risk  his  one 
immaculate  possession,  his  clothes,  and  came  from  the  city 
through  the  storm.  Ida  and  himself,  between  them,  brought 
about  the  nearest  approach  to  a  "ball"  possible  in  the  circum- 
stances. 

The  dancing,  under  their  auspices,  differed  from  tbat  of 
the  morning,  not  merely  in  name  and  form,  but  in  its  subtle 
character.  In  the  one  instance  it  had  been  an  innocent  pas- 
time, occasioned  by  childlike  and  joyous  impulses.  The 
people's  manner  might  have  reminded  one  of  a  bit  of  dark- 
ened landscape  that  had  been  rapidly  filled  with  light,  and 
almost  ecstatic  life  by  the  advent  of  a  May  morning. 

In  the  evening,  however,  everything  was  artificial  and 
in  keeping  with  the  gaslight.  The  ladies  were  conscious  of 
their  toilets,  conscious  of  themselves,  looking  for  admira- 
tion rather  than  for  hearty  enjoyment.  Even  the  older 
boys  and  girls,  who  had  been  joyous  children  in  the  morn- 
ing, were  now  small  parodies  of  fashionable  men  and  wo- 
men !  A  band  of  hired  performers  twanged  out  the  hack- 
neyed dancing  music  then  in  vogue,  going  over  their  small 
repertory  with  wearisome  repetition.  People  danced  at  first 
because  it  was  the  thing  to  do,  and  not  from  any  inspiration 
from  the  melody.  As  the  evening  wore  on,  Sibley,  who  bad 
been  drinking  quite  freely,  tried  to  introduce,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, the  excitement  of  a  revel,  calling  chiefly  for  swift 
waltzes  and  galops  through  which  he  and  Ida  whirled  in  a 
way  that  made  people's  heads  dizzy. 

Miss  Burton,  after  going  through  a  quadrille  with  Stan- 
ton early  in  the  evening,  had  declined  to  dance  any  more. 
She  did  not  feel  very  well,  she  explained  to  Van  Berg  as 
he  sought  her  for  the  next  form;  but  he  imagined  that  she 


CONTRASTS  135 

early  foresaw  that  Sibley  and  others,  and  among  them  even 
Stanton,  were  inclined  to  give  the  evening  a  character  tbat 

was  not  to  her  taste. 

As  Ida  had  made  herself  somewhat  prominent  in  inaugu- 
rating the  'lball,"  as  Sibley  took  pains  to  term  it  on  all  oc- 
casions. Van  Berg,  as  a  part  of  bis  tactics  to  win  the  beauty  s 
good-will,  tried  at  first  to  make  the  affair  successful.  He 
danced  with  others,  and  twice  sought  her  hand;  but  in  each 
case  she  rather  indifferently  told  him  that  she  was  engaged. 
He  would  not  have  sought  her  as  a  partner  after  his  first 
rebuff  had  he  not  imagined,  from  occasional  and  furtive 
glances,  that  she  was  not  as  indifferent  as  she  seemed 

Early  in  the  evening  it  occurred  to  him  that  her  slightly 
reckless  manner  was  assumed,  but  he  saw  that  she  was  aban- 
doning herself  to  the  growing  excitement  of  the  dance,  as 
Sibley,  her  most  frequent  partner,  and  others,  were  to  the 
stronger  excitement  of  liquor.  Observant  mothers  called 
away° their  daughters.  Ladies,  in  whom  the  instincts  of 
true  refined  womanhood  were  in  the  ascendency,  looked 
significantly   at   each   other,    and    declined   further  invita- 

tions.  .      ,  .     _. 

Van  Berg  had  also  withdrawn,  but  with  his  disposition 

to  watch  manifestations  of  character  in  general,  and  of  one 
present  in  particular,  he  still  stood  at  a  parlor  window  look- 
ing on      The  band  had  just  struck  up  a  livelier  waltz  than 
usual,  and  Ida  and  Sibley  were  whirling  through  the  wide 
apartment  as  if  treading  on  air;  but  when,  a  few  moments 
later   they  circled  near  where   he  stood,  he  saw  upon  the 
youno-  man's  face  an  expression  of  earthiness  and  grossness 
that  was  anything  but  ethereal.     Indeed  so  unmistakably 
wanton  was  the  look  which  Sibley  bent  upon  his  compan- 
ion  whose  heaving  bosom  he  clasped  against  his  own,  that 
the  artist  frowned  darkly  at  him,  and  felt  his  hand  tingling 
to  strike  the  fellow  a  blow. 

She,  looking  up,  caught  his  frown,  and  in  her  egotism 
and  excitement,  thought  it  meant  only  jealousy  of  the  man 
she  had  so  favored  during  the  evening. 


136  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"Perhaps  he  is  more  deeply  smitten  than  I  imagined, 
and  I  can  punish  him  yet,"  was  the  hope  that  entered  her 
mind;  and  this  prospect  added  to  the  elation  and  excitement 
which  had  mastered  her. 

"Can  she  know  how  that  scoundrel  is  looking  at  her? 
If  I  believed  it  I'd  lea,ve  her  marvellous  features  to  their 
fate,"  was  the  thought  that  passed  through  his  mind. 

In  his  perturbation  he  walked  down  the  long  piazza. 
Happening  to  glance  into  one  of  the  small  private  parlors, 
he  witnessed  a  scene  that  made  a  very  sharp  contrast  with 
the  one  he  had  just  left.  An  old  white-haired,  white- bearded 
man,  a  well-known  guest  of  the  house,  reclined  in  an  easy- 
chair  with  an  expression  of  real  enjoyment  on  his  face.  His 
aged  wife  sat  near,  knitting  away  as  tranquilly  as  if  at  home, 
while  under  the  gas-jet  was  Miss  Burton,  reading  a  news- 
paper, with  two  or  three  others  upon  her  lap.  She  had  evi- 
dently found  the  old  gentleman  trying  to  glean,  with  his 
feeble  sight,  the  evening  journals  that  had  been  brought 
from  the  city,  and  was  lending  him  her  young  eyes  and 
mellow  voice  for  an  hour.  The  picture  struck  him  so 
pleasantly  that  he  took  but  his  note-book  and  indicated 
the  fortunate  grouping  within,  for  a  future  sketch. 

"It  would  make  some  difference  in  a  man's  future,"  he 
muttered,  "whether  this  maiden  or  the  one  in  yonder  roue's 
embrace  were  installed  as  the  mistress  of  his  home." 

Going  back  into  the  main  hallway  he  met  Stanton  coming 
down  the  stairs  with  his  face  unusually  flushed. 

"Oh,  Van,"  he  cried,  "where  have  you  been  keeping 
yourself  ?  Come  with  me  and  have  some  of  the  best  brandy 
you  ever  tasted. " 

"Where  is  it?" 

"Id  Sibley's  room.  He  brought  up  a  couple  of  bottles 
of  the  prime  old  article,  and  has  invited  all  his  friends  to 
make  free  with  it." 

"I'm  not  one  of  his  friends." 

"Oh,  well,  you're  my  friend!  "What's  the  odds?  A 
swig  of  such  brandy   will  do  you  good,  so  come  along." 


CONTRASTS 


137 


"Come  out  on  the  piazza,  Stanton.     I  want  to  show  you 

something. 

"Can't  you  wait  a  few  moments  ?    I  want  to  have  a  whirl 

in  this  jolly  waltz  before  it's  over." 

"No;  then  it  will  be  too  late.  I  won't  keep  you  long," 
and  Stanton  reluctantly  followed  him. 

Yan  Berg  understood  his  friend  sufficiently  well  to  know 
that  any  ordinary  remonstrance  would  have  no  influence  in 
his  present  condition,  and  so  sought  to  use  a  little  strategy. 
Taking  him  to  the  window  of  the  small  private  parlor,  he 
showed   and  explained  to  him  the  pretty  and  quiet  scene 

within. 

Stanton's  manner  changed  instantly,  and  he  seemed  in 

no  haste  to  return  to  the  waltz. 

"I  thought  it  would  strike  you  as  a  pretty  picture,  as  it 
did  me,"  remarked  Van  Berg,  quietly;  "and  I  also  thought 
that  after  seeing  it  you  would  not  want  any  more  of  Sibley's 
brandy.     It  would  choke  me.  " 

"You  are  right,  Van.  I  fear  I've  taken  too  much  of  it 
already.  I'm  glad  you  showed  me  this  quiet  picture- 
it  makes  me  wish  I  were  a  better  man." 

"I  like  that,  Ik;  I  always  knew  you  had  plenty  of  good 
metal  in  you.  Now  I  don't  want  to  be  officious,  but  I  would 
not  let  a'cousin  of  mine  dance  with  Sibley  any  longer  if  I 
could  prevent  it  without  attracting  attention.  However 
generous  he  may  have  been  with  his  brandy,  he  has  had 
more  than  his  share  himself. 

"Thank  you,  Van;  I  understand  you.  By  Jove,  I'll  try 
the  same  tactics  with  her  that  you  have  with  me.  I'll  bring 
her  here  and  show  her  a  scene  that  has  been  to  me  like  a 
quieting  and  restraining  hand." 

A  few  moments  later  the  waltz  ceased,  and  Miss  May  hew 
came  out  on  the  cool,  dusky  piazza,  leaning  on  Sibley's  arm. 
Stanton  joined  her  and  said: 

"Ida,  come  with  me;  I  wish  to  speak  with  you  a  mo- 
ment.    Mr.  Sibley,  please  excuse  us." 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Stanton,"  said  Sibley  in  tones  of  maudlin 


138  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

sentiment,  "you  are  cruel  to  deprive  me  of  your  cousin's 
society  even  for  a  moment.  I'll  forgive  you  this  once,  but 
never  again. "  And  then  he  availed  himself  of  the  oppor- 
tunity to  pay  another  visit  to  his  brandy. 

"Ida,"  said  Stanton,  "I  want  to  show  you  a  little  picture 
that  has  done  me  good." 

But  the  young  lady  was  in  no  mood  for  pictures  or 
moralizing.  Her  blood  was  coursing  feverishly  through 
her  veins,  her  spirit  had  been  made  reckless  by  the  wilful 
violence  that  she  was  doing  her  conscience,  and  also  by  her 
deep  and  growing  dissatisfaction  with  herself,  that  was  like 
an  irritating  wound.  She  was  therefore  prepared  to  resent 
any  interruption  to  the  whirl  of  excitement,  which  gave  her 
a  kind  of  pleasure  in  the  place  of  the  happiness  that  was 
impossible  to  one' in  her  condition. 

"You  call  that  a  pretty  picture!"  she  said  disdainfully; 
"Miss  Burton  reading  a  newspaper  to  two  stupid  old  people 
who  ought  to  be  abed!  A  more  humdrum  scene  I  never 
saw.  Truly,  both  your  breath  and  your  words  show  that 
you  have  been  drinking  too  much.  But  you  need  not  ex- 
pect me  to  share  in  your  tipsy  sentiment  over  Miss  Burton. 
Did  Mr.  Van  Berg  ask  you  to  show  me  this  matter-of-fact 
group  which,  in  his  artistic  jargon,  you  call  a  picture?" 

"If  he  had,  he  showed  you  a  greater  kindness  than  you 
deserved." 

"Yes  and  a  greater  one  than  I  asked  or  wished  from 
him." 

"Then  you  are  going  back  to  dance  with  Sibley  ?" 

"Yes,  I  am." 

"The  prospects  are  that  you  and  Mrs.  Chints  and  a  couple 
of  half- tipsy  men  will  soon  have  it  all  to  yourselves.  I  sup- 
pose the  old  adage  about  'birds  of  a  feather'  will  still  hold 
good.  I  was  in  hopes,  however,  that  even  if  you  had  no 
appreciation  of  what  was  beautiful,  refined,  and  unselfish 
in  another  woman's  action,  you  still  had  some  self-respect, 
or  at  least  some  fear  of  ridicule,  left.  Since  you  won't  lis- 
ten to  me,  I  shall  warn  your  mother.     If  Sibley  and  two  or 


CONTRASTS  139 

three  others  drink  much  more,  Burleigh  will  interfere  for 
the  credit  of  his  house." 

"You  have  been  drinking  as  well  as  Mr.  Sibley." 

"Well,  thanks  to  Van  Berg,  I  stopped  before  I  lost  my 
head." 

"From  your  maudlin  sentiment  over  Miss  Burton,  I 
think  you  have  lost  your  head  and  heart  both." 

"Go;  dance  with  Sibley,  then,"  he  said  in  sudden  irrita- 
tion; "dance  with  him  till  you  and  Mrs.  Chints  between 
you  have  to  hold  him  on  his  feet.  Dance  with  him  till 
Burleigh  sends  a  couple  of  colored  waiters  to  take  him 
from  your  embrace  and  carry  him  off  to  bed." 

She  made  a  gesture  of  rage  and  disgust,  and  went  straight 
to  her  room. 

Sibley,  in  the  meantime,  paid  a  lengthened  visit  to  his 
brandy,  and  having  already  passed  the  point  of  discretion, 
drank  recklessly.  When  he  descended  the  stairs  again  to 
look  for  his  partner,  his  step  was  uncertain  and  his  utter- 
ance thick. 

Stanton  gave  Mr.  Burleigh  a  hint  that  the  young  man 
needed  looking  after,  and  the  adroit  host,  skilled  in  manag- 
ing all  kinds  of  people  and  in  every  condition,  induced  him 
to  return  to  his  room,  under  the  pretence  of  wishing  to  taste 
his  fine  old  brandy,  and  then  kept  him  there  until  the 
lethargic  stage  set  in  as  the  result  of  his  excess.  And  so 
an  affair,  which  might  have  created  much  scandal,  was 
smuggled  out  of  sight  and  knowledge  as  far  as  possible. 
Mrs.  Mayhew  had  been  so  occupied  with  whist  that  she 
had  not  observed  that  anything  was  amiss,  and  merely  re- 
marked that  tlMr.  Sibley's  ball  had  ended  earlier  than 
usual. ' ' 


140  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  XVI 

OUT   AMONG    SHADOWS 

THE  expression  of  Ida  Mayhew's  face  was  cold  and 
defiant  on  the  following  day.  She  did  not  attend 
church  with  her  mother,  but  remained  all  the  morn- 
ing in  her  room.  She  not  only  avoided  opportunities  of 
speaking  to  Van  Berg  when  coming  down  to  dinner  and 
during  the  afternoon,  but  she  would  not  even  look  toward 
him;  and  her  manner  toward  her  cousin  also  was  decidedly 
icy. 

"I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  Ida,"  her  mother 
remarked  to  Stanton;  "she  has  acted  so  strangely  of  late." 

"It's  the  old  complaint,  I  imagine,"  he  replied  with  a 
shrug. 

"What's  that?" 

"Caprice." 

"Oh,  well!  she's  no  worse  than  other  pretty,  fashionable 
girls,"  said  Mrs.  Mayhew,  carelessly. 

Stanton,  in  his  anger  on  the  previous  evening,  had  not 
spoken  of  his  cousin  to  Van  Berg  in  a  very  complimentary 
way;  but  the  artist  remembered  that  the  young  man  himself 
was  not  in  a  condition  to  form  either  a  correct  or  charitable 
judgment;  while  the  fact  that  Ida,  as  a  result  of  his  remon- 
strance, had  gone  directly  to  her  room,  was  in  her  favor. 
He  still  resolved  to  suspend  his  final  opinion  and  not  to  give 
over  his  project  until  satisfied  that  her  nature  contained  too 
much  alloy  to  permit  of  its  success.  He  paid  no  heed  there- 
fore to  her  coldness  of  manner;  and  when  at  last  meeting 
her  face  to  face  on  the  piazza  Sunday  evening,  he  lifted  his 
hat  as  politely  as  possible. 


OUT   AMONG    SHADOWS  141 

Sibley  did  not  appear  until  the  arrival  of  the  dinner 
hour.  He  was  under  the  impression  that  he  had  gone  a 
little  too  far  the  night  before,  and  tried  to  make  amends  by 
an  immaculate  toilet  and  an  urbane  yet  dignified  courtesy 
toward  all  whom  he  knew.  Society  very  readily  winks  at 
the  indiscretions  of  wealthy  young  men.  Moreover,  he  had 
been  inveigled  back  to  his  room  before  his  condition  had 
been  observed  to  any  extent.  Therefore  he  found  himself 
so  well  received  in  the  main,  that  he  soon  fully  recovered 
his  wonted  self-assurance. 

Mrs.  May  hew  was  particularly  gracious;  and  Ida,  who 
at  first  had  been  somewhat  distant  toward  him  as  well  as 
all  others,  concluded  that  she  had  not  sufficient  cause  to  be 
ashamed  of  him,  and  so  it  came  about  that  they  spent  much 
of  the  afternoon  and  evening  together.  She  did  not  fail  to 
note,  however,  that  when  he  approached  Van  Berg  he  re- 
ceived a  cold  and  curt  reception.  Was  jealousy  the  cause 
of  this  ?  In  her  elation  and  excitement  on  the  previous 
evening,  she  had  been  inclined  to  think  so,  but  now  she 
feared  that  it  was  because  the  artist  despised  the  man ;  and 
in  her  secret  soul  she  was  compelled  to  admit  that  he  had 
reason  to  despise  him— yes,  to  despise  them  both.  She  felt, 
with  bitter  humiliation,  that  his  superiority  was  not  assumed 

but  real. 

More  than  once  before  the  day  closed,  she  found  herself 
contrasting  the  two  men.  The  one  had  not  a  shred  of  true 
worth  about  him.  Stanton,  to  tease  her  and  to  justify  his 
interference,  had  told  her  that  Mr.  Burleigh  had  been  com- 
pelled to  take  charge  of  her  companion  in  order  to  prevent 
him  from  disgracing  himself  and  the  house.  Although  too 
proud  to  acknowledge  it,  she  still  saw  plainly  that  it  was 
her  cousin's  interference,  and  indirectly  the  intervention  of 
the  artist  that  had  kept  her  from   being  involved  in  that 

disgrace. 

Even  her  perverted  mind  recognized  that  one  was  a  gen- 
tleman, and  the  other— well,  kla  fashionable  young  man," 
as  she  would  phrase  it.     The  one,  as  a  friend,  would  shield 


142  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

her  from  every  detracting  breath;  the  other,  if  given  a 
chance,  would  inevitably  tumble  into  some  slough  of  infamy 
himself,  and  drag  her  after  him  with  reckless  selfishness. 

Still,  with  something  like  self-loathing,  she  saw  that 
Sibley  was  her  natural  ally  and  companion,  and  that  she 
had  far  more  in  common  with  him  than  with  the  artist. 
She  could  easily  maintain  with  him  the  inane  chatter  of 
their  frivolous  life,  but  she  could  not  talk  with  the  artist, 
nor  he  with  her,  without  an  effort  that  was  as  humiliating 
as  it  was  apparent. 

What  was  more,  she  saw  that  all  others  classed  her  with 
Sibley,  and  that  the  people  in  the  house  who  were  akin  to 
the  artist  in  character  and  high  breeding,  stood  courteously 
but  coolly  aloof  from  both  herself  and  her  mother.  She 
also  felt  that  she  could  not  lay  all  the  blame  of  this  upon 
her  poor  father.  Indeed,  since  the  previous  miserable  Sun- 
day on  which  Van  Berg  had  tried  to  win  Mr.  Mayhew  from 
his  evil  habit  for  one  day  at  least,  and  she  had  thwarted  his 
kindly  intention,  she  had  begun  to  feel  that  she  and  her 
mother  were  the  chief  causes  of  his  increasing  degradation. 
Others,  she  feared,  and  especially  Van  Berg,  took  the  same 
view. 

With  such  thoughts  surging  up  in  her  mind  and  cloud- 
ing her  brow,  Sibley  did  not  find  her  altogether  the  same 
girl  that  she  had  been  the  evening  before.  Still,  as  has 
been  said,  he  was  her  natural  ally,  and  she  tried  to  second 
his  efforts  to  re-establish  a  good  character  and  to  keep  up 
the  appearance  of  fashionable  respectability. 

Stanton  was  in  something  of  a  dilemma.  He  did  not 
like  Sibley,  and  was  ashamed  of  his  recent  excess;  but 
having  drank  with  him,  and  so,  in  a  sense,  having  accepted 
his  hospitality,  felt  himself  obliged  to  be  rather  affable. 
He  managed  the  matter  by  keeping  out  of  the  way  as -far 
as  possible,  and  was  glad  to  remember  that  the  young  man 
would  depart  in  the  morning.  While  scarcely  acknowledg- 
ing the  fact  to  himself,  he  was  on  the  alert  most  of  the  day 
to  find  an  opportunity  of  enjoying  a  conversation  with  Miss 


OUT   AMONG    SHADOWS  143 

Burton;  but  she  kept  herself  very  much  secluded.  Alter 
attending  church  at  a  neighboring  village  in  the  morning, 
she  spent  most  of  the  afternoon  with  Mrs.  Burleigh,  assist- 
ing her  in  the  care  of  the  cross  baby. 

Van  Berg,  much  to  Stanton's  envy,  found  her  as  genial 
and  cheery  as  ever  when  they  met  at  the  table.  He  learned, 
from  her  manner  more  than  from  anything  she  said,  that 
the  day  and  its  associations  were  sacred  to  her.  She  affected 
no  soiemnity  and  seemed  under  no  constraint,  only  her 
thought  and  bearing  had  a  somewhat  soberer  coloring,  like 
the  shading  of  a  picture.  To  his  mind  it  was  but  another 
example  of  her  entire  reticence  in  regard  to  herself,  while 
her  smiling  face  seemed  as  open  as  the  light. 

But  as  she  came  out  from  supper  the  children  pounced 
upon  her,  clamorous  for  a  story.  She  assented  on  condi- 
tion that  Mr.  Burleigh  would  give  them  the  use  of  one  of 
the  private  parlors— a  stipulation  speedily  complied  with; 
and  soon  she  had  nearly  all  the  small  folk  in  the  hotel 
gathered  round  her. 

"I  shall  stand  without,   like  the  4Peri  at  the  gate,' 
Stanton  found  a  chance  to  say. 

"The  resemblance  is  very  striking,"  was  her  smiling 
reply ;  but  for  some  reason  he  winced  under  it  and  wished 
he  had  not  spoken. 

When  she  dismissed  her  little  audience  there  were  traces 
of  tears  on  some  of  the  children's  faces,  proving  that  she 
could  tell  a  pathetic,  as  well  as  a  jolly  story;  and  Van  Berg 
observed  with  interest  how  the  power  of  her  magnetism 
kept  them  lingering  near  her  even  after  she  entered  the 
parlor  and  sought  a  quiet  nook  near  the  old  gentleman 
and   lady  to   whom   she   had    been   reading    the    previous 

evening. 

Mrs.  Chints,  who  liked  to  be  prominent  on  all  occasions, 
very  properly  felt  that  sacred  music  would  be  the  right 
thing  on  Sabbath  evening,  and,  with  a  few  of  her  own  ilk, 
was  giving  a  florid  and  imperfect  rendering  of  that  peculiar 
style  of  composition  that  suggests  a  poor  opera  while  making 


144  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

a  rather  shocking  and  irreverent  use  of  words  taken  from 
the  Scriptures. 

Van  Berg  and  Stanton,  who  were  out  on  the  piazza,  were 
ready  to  grate  their  teeth  in  anguish,  rinding  the  narcotic 
influence  of  the  strongest  cigar  no  match  for  Mrs.  Chints's 

voice. 

Suddenly  that  irrepressible  lady  spied  Miss  Burton,  and 
she  swooped  down  upon  her  in  a  characteristic  manner, 
exclaiming: 

"You  can't  decline;  you  needn't  say  you  don't;  I've 
heard  you.  If  you  sing  half  as  well  for  us  as  you  did  to 
Mrs.  Burleigh's  baby  this  afternoon,  we'll  be  more  than 
satisfied.     Now  come;  one  sweet  solo— just  one." 

Stanton  craned  his  neck  from  where  he  sat  to  see  the  re- 
sult of  this  onslaught,  but  Miss  Burton  shook  her  head. 

"Well,  then,  won't  you  join  in  with  us?"  persisted  Mrs. 
Chints.  "Sacred  music  is  so  lovely  and  appropriate  on 
Sunday  night." 

"You  are  right  in  that  respect,  Mrs.  Chints.  If  it  is  the 
wish  of  those  present  I  think  some  simple  hymns  in  which 
we  can  all  join  might  be  generally  enjoyed." 

"Now,  my  dear,  you  have  just  hit  it,"  said  the  old  lady 
at  her  side.  "I,  for  one,  would  very  much  like  to  hear  some 
simple  music  like  that  we  had  when  I  was  young." 

The  old  lady's  preference  was  taken  up  and  echoed  on 
every  side.  Indeed  the  majority  were  ready  for  any  change 
from  Mrs.  Chints' s  strident  tones. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  that  lady,  "it  shall  be  as  you 
say."  Then  she  added,  sotto  voce,  with  a  complacent  nod: 
"I  suppose  the  music  we  were  giving  is  beyond  the  masses, 
but  if  you  could  once  hear  Madame  Skaronni  render  it  in 
our  choir  at  the  Church  of  the  (something  that  sounded  like 
'pickaninny,'  as  by  Mrs.  Chints  pronounced)  you  would 
wish  for  no  other.     Will  you  play,  my  dear?" 

"Ah,  yes,  please  do,"  exclaimed  some  of  the  children 
who  had  gathered  around  her. 

"In  mercy  to  us  poor  mortals  for  whom  there  is  no  es- 


OUT    AMONG    SHADOWS  145 

cape  save  going  to  bed,  please  comply,"  whispered  the  old 
lady  in  her  ear. 

The  light  in  Miss  Burton's  eyes  was  mirthful  rather 
than  sacred  as  she  rose  and  went  to  the  piano,  and  at  once 
an  air  of  breezy  and  interested  expectancy  took  the  place 
of  the  previous  bored  expression. 

"Come,  Van,"  said  Stanton,  throwing  away  his  cigar, 
'we'll  need  your  tenor  voice.  We  must  stand  by  that  little 
woman.  The  Chints  tribe  have  incited  to  profanity  long 
enough,  and  shall  make  the  night  hideous  no  more.  If  we 
could  only  drown  them  instead  of  their  voices,  what  a  mercy 
it  would  be!"  and  the  young  men  went  around  and  stood  in 
the  open  door  near  the  piano. 

"You  are  to  sing,"  said  Miss  Burton,  with  a  decided 
little  nod  at  them. 

"We  intend  to,"  replied  Stanton,  "since  you  are  to 
accompany  us." 

She  started  "Coronation,"  that  spirited  and  always  in- 
spiriting battle  song  of  the  church — jubilant  and  militant — 
a  melody  that  is  also  admirably  adapted  for  blending  rough 
and  inharmonious  voices. 

For  a  moment  her  own  voice  was  like  that  of  a  singing 
lark,  mounting  from  its  daisy  covert;  or  rather,  like  the 
flow  of  a  silver  rill  whose  music  was  soon  lost,  however, 
in  the  tumultuous  rush  of  other  tributary  streams  of  sound; 
still,  the  general  effect  was  good,  and  the  people  enjoyed  it. 
By  the  time  the  second  stanza  was  reached  the  majority 
were  singing  with  hearty  good- will,  the  children  gathering 
near  and  joining  in  with  delight. 

Other  familiar  and  old-fashioned  hymns  followed,  and 
then  one  and  another  began  to  ask  for  their  favorites. 
Fortunately  Mrs.  Chints's  knowledge  of  sacred  music  was 
limited,  and  so  she  retired  on  the  laurels  of  having  called 
Miss  Burton  out,  informing  half  the  company  of  the  fact 
with  an  important  nod;  and  in  remembrance  of  this  fact  they 
were  inclined  to  forgive  her  the  anguish  she  had  personally 
caused  them.  ^tt 

7_roe— XTI 


146  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

Mrs.  Burleigh,  who  had  stolen  into  the  parlor  for  a  little 
while  that  she  might  enjoy  the  singing,  remembered  that 
she  had  a  pile  of  note-books  that  had  grown  dusty  on  a  shelf 
since  the  baby  had  furnished  the  music  of  the  household. 
These  were  brought,  and  higher  and  fuller  musical  themes 
were  attempted,  until  the  singers  dwindled  to  a  quartet 
composed  of  a  lady  who  had  a  fair  soprano  voice,  Miss 
Burton,  Stanton  and  Van  Berg.  Their  selections,  however, 
continued  truly  sacred  in  character,  thus  differing  radically 
from  the  florid  style  that  Mrs.  Chints  had  introduced. 

The  sweet  and  penetrating  power  of  Miss  Burton's  voice 
could  now  be  distinguished.  For  some  reason  it  thrilled 
and  touched  its  hearers  in  a  way  that  they  could  not  ac- 
count for.  The  majority  present  at  once  realized  that  she 
was  not,  and  never  could  become,  a  great  singer.  But 
within  the  compass  of  her  voice,  she  could  pronounce 
sacred  words  in  a  manner  that  sent  them  home  to  the  hearts 
of  the  listeners  like  rays  that  could  both  cheer  and  melt. 

At  last  she  rose  from  the  piano,  remarking  that  there 
were  other  musicians  present;  and  no  amount  of  persuasion 
could  induce  her  to  remain  there  any  longer. 

44 Perhaps  you  gentlemen  play,"  she  said,  turning  to  the 
young  men  who  were  about  to  depart.  "Araan's  touch  and 
leadership   is   so   much  more  decisive  and  vigorous   than 

a  lady's!" 

"Mr.  Van  Berg  plays  very  well  indeed,  considering  his 
youth  and  diffidence!"  remarked  Stanton. 

44  And  he  has  been  taking  advantage  of  a  defenceless 
woman  all  this  time!  Mr.  Van  Berg,  if  you  do  not  wish  to 
lose  your  character  utterly,  you  must  take  my  place  at  the 
piano." 

t4I  admit,"  he  replied,  "that  I  have  taken  more  pleasure 
than  you  will  believe  in  your  contribution  to  our  evening's 
enjoyment,  but  rather  than  lose  your  good  opinion  I  will 
attempt  to  play  or  sing  anything  you  dictate,  even  though 
1  put  every  one  in  the  parlor  to  flight,  with  their  fingers  in 
their  ears. " 


OUT   AMONG    SHADOWS  147 

"And  you  fear  my  taste  will  impose  on  you  some  such 
blood-curdling  combination  of  sounds?     Thank  you." 

"Now,  Van,  you  have  taught  us  what  unconditional 
surrender  means.  Miss  Burton,  ask  him  to  play  and  sing 
some  selections  from  the  Oratorio  of  the  Messiah." 

"Are  you  familiar  with  that?"  she  asked,  with  a  sudden 
lighting  up  of  her  face. 

"Somewhat  so,  only  as  an  amateur  can  be;  but  I  see, 
from  your  expression,  that  you  are." 

"I've  contributed  my  share  this  evening,"  she  said,  de- 
cisively.  ' '  Please  give  us  some  selections  from  the  Oratorio. ' ' 

"Lay  your  commands,  then,  on  Stanton  also.  There's  a 
part  that  we  have  sung  together  as  a  duet  occasionally, 
although  it  is  not  'so  nominated  in  the  bond,'  or  score, 
rather." 

"If  Mr.  Stanton  does  not  stand  by  his  friend,  then  he 
should  be  left  to  stand  by  himself." 

"In  the  corner,  I  suppose  you  mean.  But  do  not  leave, 
Miss  Burton.  If  you  do  not  stand  by  Mr.  Van  Berg  and 
sing  with  him  the  duet  that  begins  with  the  words: 

"  'Oh,  death!  where  is  thy  sting  ?' 

you  will  deprive  us  all  of  the  chief  pleasure  of  the  evening, 
and  it's  not  in  your  nature  to  do  that." 

"Please,  please  do,  Miss  Burton, "  cried  a  score  of  voices. 

"You  know  nothing  about  my  nature,  sir.  I  assure  you 
that  1  can  be  a  veritable  dragon.  But  out  of  regard  for  Mr. 
Van  Berg's  'youth  and  diffidence'  I  will  sustain  him." 

Van  Berg's  voice  was  not  strong,  but  he  sang  with  taste 
and  good  expression.  It  suggested  refinement  and  culture 
rather  than  deep,  repressed  feeling,  as  had  been  the  case  in 
Miss  Burton's  singing.  His  style  would  be  admired,  and 
would  not  give  much  occasion  for  criticism,  but,  as  a  gen- 
eral thing,  it  would  not  stir  and  move  the  heart.  Still,  the 
audience  gave  close  and  pleased  attention. 

Ida  Mayhew,  who  all  this  time  had  been  out  on  the  piazza 
and  but  half  listening  to  Mr.  Sibley's  compliments  in  her 


148  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

attention  to  the  scenes  at  the  piano,  now  rose  and  came  to 
one  of  the  open  windows,  where,  while  hidden  from  the 
singer,  she  could  hear  more  distinctly.  Her  features  did 
not  indicate  that  she  shared  in  the  pleasure  expressed  on 
the  other  faces  within,  and  her  gathering  frown  was  deep- 
ened by  the  shadow  of  the  window  frame. 

"You  do  not  enjoy  it!"  said  Mr.  Sibley,  complacently. 

"No,"  she  answered,  laconically,  but  for  reasons  he 
little  understood. 

"Now  you  show  your  taste,  Miss  Mayhew." 

1 '  I  fear  I  do.  Hush ! ' '  But  when  Van  Berg7  s  solo  ended, 
she  breathed  a  deep  sigh. 

Then  Stanton's  rich  but  uncultivated  bass  voice  joined 
in  the  melody.  Still,  the  effect  was  better  than  would  have 
been  expected  from  amateurs.  After  a  few  moments,  Stan- 
ton stood  back  and  Miss  Burton  and  Van  Berg  sang  to- 
gether; then  every  one  leaned  forward  and  listened  with 
a  breathless  hush.  Her  voice  seemed  to  pervade  his  with  a 
soul  and  feeling  that  had  been  lacking  hitherto. 

As  the  last  rich  chords  died  away,  the  strongest  expres- 
sions of  pleasure  were  heard  on  every  side;  but  Ida  May- 
hew  stepped  abruptly  out  into  the  dusk  of  the  piazza  with 
clenched  hands  and  compressed  lips. 

ilPestef"  she  exclaimed  under  her  breath.  "What  a 
contrast  between  Sibley  and  myself  last  evening  and  these 
two  people  to-night!  What  a  worse  contrast  there  might 
have  been  if  Ik  had  not  interfered  in  time !  I  have  a  good 
voice,  but  the  guests  of  the  house  have  not  even  thought 
of  me  in  connection  with  this  evening's  entertainment.  I 
am  associated  only  with  the  Sibley  style  of  amusements." 


fl!EW   FORCES    DEVELOPING  149 


CHAPTER    XVII 

NEW    FORCES   DEVELOPING 

AFTEK  Mr.  Van  Berg  and  Miss  Burton  finished  the  se- 
lection from  the  Oratorio  mentioned  in  the  previous 
chapter,  the  old  white-haired  gentleman  at  whose 
side  the  latter  had  been  sitting  in  the  earlier  part  of  the 
evening  rose  and  said: 

"I  want  to  thank  all  the  singers,  and  especially  the  young 
lady  and  gentleman  now  at  the  piano,  not  only  for  the  pleas- 
ure they  have  given  us  all,  but  also  for  the  comforting  and 
sustaining  thoughts  that  the  sacred  words  have  suggested. 
My  enjoyments  in  this  world  are  but  few,  and  are  fast  dimin- 
ishing; and  I  know  that  they  will  not  refuse  an  old  man's 
request  that  they  close  this  service  of  song  by  each  singing 
alone  some  hymn  that  will  strengthen  our  faith  in  the  un- 
seen Friend  who  watches  over  us  all." 

Van  Berg  looked  at  Miss  Burton. 

11  We  cannot  refuse  such  an  appeal,"  she  said. 

"I  fear  that  I  shall  seem  a  hypocrite  in  complying,"  Van 
Berg  answered,  in  a  low  tone.  ''How  can  I  make  a  dis- 
tinctly recognized  efiort  to  strengthen  faith  in  others  when 
lacking  faith  myself?" 

Her  eyes  flashed  up  to  his,  in  sudden  and  strong  ap- 
proval. "I  like  that,"  she  said.  "It  always  gives  me  a 
sense  of  security  and  safety  when  I  meet  downright  hon- 
esty. In  no  way  can  you  better  strengthen  our  faith  than 
by  being  perfectly  true.  You  give  me  a  good  example  of 
sincerity,"  she  added  slowly,  "and  perhaps  my  hymn  will 
teach  submission  more  than  faith.     While  I  am  singing  it 


150  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

you  may  find   something  that  will  not  express  more  than 
you  feel." 

In  her  sweet,  low,  yet  penetrating  voice,  that  now  had 
a  pathos  which  melted  every  heart,  she  sang  the  following 
words,  which,  like  the  perfume  of  crushed  violets,  have 
risen  in  prayer  from  many  bruised  and  broken  spirits: 

"My  God,  my  Father,  while  I  stray 
Far  from  my  home  on  life's  rough  way, 
Oh  teach  me  from  my  heart  to  say, 
Thy  will  be  done. 

"What  though  in  lonely  grief  I  sigh 
For  friends  beloved  no  longer  nigh ; 
Submissive  still  would  I  reply, 
Thy  will  be  done. 

"If  Thou  shouldst  call  me  to  resign 
What  most  I  prize — it  ne'er  was  mine; 
I  only  yield  Thee  what  was  Thine ; 
Thy  will  be  done. 

"Renew  my  will  from  day  to  day; 
Blend  it  with  Thine,  and  take  away 
Whate'er  now  makes  it  hard  to  say, 
Thy  will  be  done. 

"Then  when  on  earth  I  breathe  no  more, 
The  prayer  oft  mixed  with  tears  before, 
I'll  sing  upon  a  happier  shore, 
Thy  will  be  done." 

Stanton,  warm-hearted  and  genuine  with  all  his  faults, 
retired  well  into  the  shadow  of  the  hallway  and  looked  at 
the  singer  through  the  lenses  of  sympathetic  tears. 

"Poor  orphan  girl,"  he  muttered.  llWhat  a  villain  a 
man  would  be  who  could  purpose  harm  to  you!" 

Van  Berg,  in  accordance  with  his  cooler  and  less  demon- 
strative nature,  kept  his  position  at  her  side,  but  he  regarded 
her  with  an  expression  of  respect  and  interest  that  caused 
Ida  Mayhew,  who  was  watching  him  from  her  covert  near, 
a  sense  of  pain  and  envy  that  surprised  her  by  its  keenness. 


NEW   FORCES   DEVELOPING  151 

With  a  sudden  longing  which  indicated  that  the  wish 
came  direct  from  her  heart,  she  sighed: 

"What  would  I  not  give  to  see  him  look  at  me  with  that 
expression  on  his  face!" 

Then,  startled  by  her  own  thought,  so  vivid  had  it  been, 
she  looked  around  as  if  in  fear  it  was  apparent  to  her  com- 
panion. 

His  eyes  were  in  truth  bent  upon  her,  and  in  the  dusk 
they  seemed  like  two  livid  coals.  A  moment  later,  as  with 
a  shrinking  sense  of  fear  she  furtively  looked  at  him  again, 
his  eyes  suggested  those  of  some  animal  of  prey  that  is  pos- 
sessed only  with  the  wolfish  desire  to  devour,  caring  for 
the  victim  only  as  it  may  gratify  the  ravenous  appetite. 

He  leaned  forward  and  whispered  in  her  ear: 

"Miss  Ida,  you  do  not  know  how  strangely,  how  tempt- 
ingly beautiful  you  are  to-night.  One  might  well  peril  his 
soul  for  such  beauty  as  yours." 

"Hush,"  she  said  imperiously,  and  with  a  repelling  ges- 
ture, she  stepped  further  into  the  light  toward  the  singers. 

11  'Then,  when  on  earth  I  breathe  no  more,'  "  sang  Miss 
Burton. 

The  thought  was  to  the  heart  of  the  unhappy  listener  like 
the  touch  of  ice  to  the  hand.  There  was  a  kindling  light 
of  hope  in  Miss  Burton's  face,  and  something  in  her  tone 
that  indicated  the  courage  of  an  unfaltering  trust  as  she 
sang  the  closing  lines: 

"I'll  sing  upon  a  happier  shore, 
Thy  will  be  done." 

But  the  words  brought  a  deeper  despondency  to  Ida 
May  hew.  In  bitterness  she  asked  herself:  "What  chance 
is  there  for  me  to  reach  'that  happier  shore,'  with  the  tempter 
at  my  side  and  everything  in  the  present  and  past  combining 
to  drag  me  down  ?' ' 

"There,  thank  heaven,  'meetin's'  over,"  whispered  Sib- 
ley, as  Miss  Burton  rose  from  the  piano.  "I'm  sick  of  all 
this  pious  twaddle,  and  would  a  thousand-fold  rather  listen 
to  the  music  of  your  voice  out  under  the  trees." 


152  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 

"You  'thank  heaven!'  "  she  repeated  with  a  reckless 
laugh.  "I'm  inclined  to  think,  Mr.  Sibley,  from  the  nature 
of  your  words,  you  named  the  wrong  locality." 

The  answering  look  he  gave  her  indicated  that  she  puz- 
zled him.  She  had  not  seemed  to-day  like  the  shallow  girl 
who  had  hitherto  accepted  of  his  more  innocent  compli- 
ments as  if  they  were  sugar- plums,  and  merely  raised  her 
finger  in  mock  warning  at  such  as  contained  a  spice  of 
wickedness  and  boldness.  There  seemed  a  current  of  thought 
in  her  mind  which  he  could  not  fathom,  and  whether  it  were 
carrying  her  away  or  toward  him  he  was  not  sure.  He  un- 
derstood and  welcomed  the  element  of  recklessness,  but  did 
not  like  the  way  in  which  she  looked  at  Van  Berg,  nor 
did  it  suit  his  purposes  that  she  should  hear  so  much  of 
what  he  characterized  as  "pious  twaddle."  He  whispered 
again  bolder  words  than  he  had  ever  spoken  to  her  before. 

"I  wish  no  better  heaven  than  the  touch  of  your  hand 
and  the  light  of  your  eyes.  See,  the  moon  is  rising;  come 
with  me,  for  this  is  the  very  witching  hour  for  a  ramble." 

She  turned  upon  him  a  startled  look,  for  he  seemed  the 
very  embodiment  of  temptation.     But  she  only  said  coldly: 

1 '  Hush !  Mr.  Van  Berg  is  about  to  sing,  "and  she  stepped 
so  far  into  the  lighted  room  that  the  artist  saw  her. 

When  Miss  Burton  rose  from  the  piano  she  did  not  re- 
turn to  her  seat  in  the  parlor,  but  stood  in  the  shadow  of 
the  doorway  leading  into  the  hall.  The  thought  of  her 
hymn  had  come  so  directly  from  her  heart,  that  her  eyes 
were  slightly  moist  with  an  emotion  that  was  more  plainly 
manifest  on  many  other  faces.  The  old  gentleman  who  had 
asked  her  to  sing  had  taken  on0  his  spectacles  and  was 
openly  wiping  his  eyes. 

Stanton,  ashamed  to  have  her  see  the  feeling  she  had 
evoked,  turned  his  back  upon  her  and  slowly  walked  down 
the  corridor.  She  misunderstood  his  act,  and  thought  it 
caused  by  indifference  or  dislike  for  the  sentiment  she  had 
expressed.  He  had  seemed  to  her  thus  far  only  a  super- 
ficial man  of  the  world,  and  this  act  struck  her  as  charac- 


NEW   FORCES    DEVELOPING  153 

teristic.  But  beyond  this  passing  impression  she  did  not 
give  him  a  thought,  and  turned,  with  genuine  interest,  to 
listen  to  Van  Berg  who  had  said  to  her: 

"1  remember  a  few  simple  verses  which  have  no  merit 
save  that  they  express  what  J  wish  rather  than  what  I  am." 

With  much  more  feeling,  and  therefore  power,  than  was 
his  custom,  he  sang  as  follows: 

"I  would  I  knew  Thee  better — 
That  trust  could  banish  doubt; 
I  wish  that  from  'the  letter' 
Thy  Spirit  might  shine  out. 

**I  wish  that  heaven  were  nearer— 
That  earth  were  more  akin 
To  the  home  that  should  be  dearer 
Than  the  one  so  marred  by  sin. 

**I  wish  that  deserts  dreary 
Might  blossom  as  the  rose, 
That  souls,  despairing,  weary, 
Might  smile  and  find  repose.' ' 

Before  singing  the  next  stanza  he  could  not  forbear  look- 
ing to  see  if  Miss  Mayhew  were  listening,  and  thus  it  hap- 
pened that  his  glance  gave  peculiar  emphasis  to  the  thought 
expressed.  She  was  looking  at  him  with  an  intensity  of  ex- 
pression that  he  did  not  understand.  Nothing  that  he  did 
escaped  her,  and  the  quick  flash  of  his  eyes  in  her  direction 
unintentionally  gave  the  following  words  the  force  and 
pointedness  of  an  open  rebuke: 

"1  wish  that  outward  beauty 
Were  the  mirror  of  the  heart, 
That  purity  and  duty 
Supplanted  wily  art." 

He  did  not  see  that  with  a  sudden  flame  of  scarlet  in  her 
face  she  stepped  back  on  the  dusky  piazza  as  abruptly  as 
if  she  had  received  a  blow.  Had  he  done  so,  he  might  not 
have  sung  as  effectively  the  remaining  verses.  After  the 
first  confused  moment  of  shame  and  resentment  passed,  she 
paused  only  long  enough  to  note  with  a  sense  of  relief  that 


154  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

others  had  not  seen  or  made  any  such  application  of  his 
words  as  she  believed  he  had  intended,  and  then  she  took 
Mr.  Sibley's  arm  and  walked  away,  leaving  the  remaining 
two  verses  unheard — 

**I  wish  that  all  were  better 
And  nearer  to  their  God- 
That  evil's  broken  fetter 
Were  buried  with  His  rod; 

"That  love  might  last  forever, 
And  we,  in  future,  find 
There  is  no  power  to  sever 
The  strong  and  true  in  mind.*' 

As  he  sang  the  last  verse  there  was  also  a  rapid  change 
in  the  expression  of  Miss  Burton's  face.  There  was  some- 
thing of  her  old  pallor  that  has  been  mentioned  before.  She 
looked  at  him  questioningly  a  moment  as  if  to  see  if  he  were 
consciously  making  an  allusion  that  touched  her  very  nearly, 
and  then,  seemingly  overcome  by  some  sudden  emotion  that 
she  would  gladly  hide,  she  quickly  vanished  down  the  dimly 
lighted  hallway,  and  was  seen  no  more  until  she  came  down 
to  breakfast  the  following  morning,  as  smiling  and  cheery 
as  ever. 

"Confound  you,  Van,"  said  Stanton,  as  the  artist  escaped 
from  the  thanks  of  the  audience  into  the  hall,  "what  did 
you  put  in  that  last  verse  for?  You  made  her  think  of  see- 
ing her  dead  friends  again,  and  so  she  was  in  no  mood  to 
speak  to  us  poor  mortals  who  are  still  plodding  on  in  this 
'vale  of  tears.'  I'd  give  my  ears  for  a  quiet  chat  with  her 
to-night.  By  Jove,  I  never  was  so  stirred  up  before,  and 
could  turn  Christian,  Mohammedan,  Buddhist,  or  anything 
else,  if  she  asked  me  to. ' ' 

"In  either  case,  Ik,"  said  Van  Berg,  "your  worship 
would  be  the  same,  I  imagine,  and  would  never  rise  higher 
than  the  priestess." 

"Curse  it  all,"  exclaimed  Stanton  impetuously,  "I  feel 
to-night  as  if  that  were  higher  than  I  can  ever  rise.  I  never 
was    afraid    of   a   woman   before;    but   no   'divinity'    ever 


NEW   FORCES    DEVELOPING  155 

'hedged  a  king'  like  that  which  fills  me  with  an  inde- 
scribable awe  when  I  approach  this  unassuming  little  woman 
who  usually  seems  no  more  formidable  than  a  flickering 
sunbeam.  I  agree  with  you  now.  She  has  evidently  had 
some  deep  experience  in  the  past  that  gives  to  her  character 
a  power  and  depth  that  we  only  half  understand.  I  wish 
I  knew  her  better." 

"Good- night,"  said  Yan  Berg,  a  little  abruptly;  "I 
think  that  after  this  evening's  experience,  neither  of  us 
is  in  the  mood  for  further  talk." 

Stanton  looked  after  him  with  a  lowering  brow  and  mut- 
tered: "Is  he  so  sensitive  on  this  subject?  By  Jove.  I'm 
sorry!  I  fear  me  must  become  rivals,  Van.  And  yet,"  he 
added  with  a  despairing  gesture,  "what  chance  would  I  have 
with  him  against  me  ?" 

"I  could  not  hear  distinctly,'7  Sibley  had  remarked  as 
Ida  took  his  arm  and  walked  away  from  her  post  of  observa- 
tion. "Were  you  disgusted  with  his  pious  wail  on  general 
principles,  or  did  something  in  his  theology  offend  you  ?' ' 

"It's  enough  that  I  was  not  pleased,"  she  replied  briefly. 

"Little  wonder.  I'm  surprised  you  stood  it  so  long. 
Van  Berg  and  Stanton  are  nice  fellows  to  lead  a  conventicle. 
I  think  I'll  take  a  hand  at  it  myself  next  Sunday  evening, 
and  certainly  would  with  your  support.  I'll  say  nothing  of 
the  singer,  but  if  you  will  go  with  me  to  the  rustic  seat  in 
yonder  shady  walk,  I'll  sing  you  a  song  that  I  know  will 
be  more  to  your  taste  than  any  you  have  heard  this  evening." 

"Please  excuse  me,  Mr.  Sibley;  I'm  afraid  of  the  night 

air. 

"You  are  unusually  prudent, ' '  he  said,  a  little  tauntingly. 

"Which  proves  that  I  possess  at  least  one  good  quality," 
she  replied. 

"Perhaps  if  Mr.  Van  Berg  asked  you  to  go  you  would 
take  the  risk." 

"Perhaps  I  might,"  she  admitted,  half  unconsciously 
and  from  the  mere  force  of  habit,  giving  the  natural  answer 
of  a  coquette. 


156  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

"He  had  better  not  cross  my  path,"  said  Sibley,  with 
sudden  vindictiveness. 

"Come,  come!1'  replied  Miss  May  hew,  with  a  careless 
laugh,  "let's  have  no  high  tragedy.  I'm  in  no  mood  for 
it  to-night,  and  you  have  no  occasion  for  alarm.  If  he 
crosses  your  path  he  will  step  daintily  over  it  at  right 
angles." 

At  that  moment  Van  Berg  came  out  on  the  piazza.  Al- 
though he  could  not  hear  her  words,  her  laugh  and  tones 
jarred  unpleasantly  on  his  ear. 

"Yonder  is  a  genuine  affinity,"  he  muttered,  "which  I 
was  a  fool  to  think  I  could  break  up;"  and  with  a  slight 
contemptuous  gesture  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  to  his 
room. 

"I  cannot  altogether  understand  you  this  evening,  Miss 
May  hew,"  said  Sibley,  with  some  resentment  in  his  tone. 

"You  are  not  to  blame  for  that,  Mr.  Sibley,  for  I  do  not 
understand  myself.  I  have  not  felt  well  to-day,  and  so  had 
better  say  good-night." 

But  before  she  could  leave  him  he  seized  her  hand  and 
exclaimed,  in  his  soft,  insinuating  tones: 

"That  then  is  the  only  trouble  between  us.  Next  Satur- 
day evening  I  shall  find  you  your  old  charming  self  ?" 

"Perhaps,"  was  her  unsatisfactory  answer. 

With  a  step  that  grew  slower  and  heavier  every  moment, 
she  went  to  her  room,  turned  up  the  light,  and  looked 
fixedly  at  herself  in  the  glass. 

"I  wish  that  outward  beauty- 
Were  the  mirror  of  the  heart," 

she  repeated  inaudibly,  and  then  her  exquisite  lip  curled  in 
self-contempt. 

"Ida,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  drawled  her  mother, 
looking  through  the  open  doorway  of  her  adjacent  room. 
"You  act  as  if  you  were  demented. " 

"Why  did  you  make  me  what  I  am?"  she  exclaimed, 
turning  upon  her  mother  in  sudden  passion. 


NEW  FORCES    DEVELOPING  157 

"Good  gracious!  what  are  you?"  ejaculated  that  matter- 
of-fact  lady. 

"I'm  as  good  as  you  are — as  good  as  our  set  averages,  I 
suppose,"  she  answered  in  a  weary,  careless  tone.  "Good- 
night;" and  she  closed  and  locked  her  door. 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  said  Mrs.  Mayhew,  petulantly;  "those 
hymns  have  made  her  out  of  sorts  with  herself  and  every- 
thing. They  used  to  stir  me  up  in  the  same  way.  Why 
can't  people  learn  to  perform  their  religious  duties  properly 
and  then  let  the  matter  rest;"  and  with  a  yawn  she  retired, 
at  peace  with  herself  and  all  the  world. 

Ida  threw  herself  on  a  lounge  and  looked  straight  before 
her  with  that  fixed,  vacant  stare  which  indicates  that  noth- 
ing is  seen  save  by  the  eye  of  the  mind. 

"Father's  drunk  to-night,"  she  moaned;  "I  know  it  as 
surely  as  if  I  saw  him.  I  also  know  that  I'm  in  part  to 
blame  for  it.  Could  outward  beauty  mask  a  blacker  heart 
than  mine  ?  It  does  not  mask  it  from  him  who  sang  those 
words,"  and  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed, 
until,  exhausted  and  disheartened,  she  sought  such  poor  rest 
and  respite  as  a  few  hours  of  troubled  sleep  could  bring. 


158  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

LOVE     PUT     TO     WOKK 

ON  the  following  day  there  was  the  usual  bustle  of 
change  and  departure  that  is  characteristic  of  a 
large  summer  resort  on  Monday  morning.  Stanton 
found  Mrs.  May  hew  very  ready  to  occupy  the  seats  he  had 
obtained,  and  all  the  more  so  from  his  statement  of  the  fact 
that  several  others  had  spoken  for  them. 

"Ida,  my  dear,"  called  her  mother;  "come  here,  I've 
good  news  for  you.  Ik  has  got  us  out  of  that  odious  corner 
of  the  dining-room,  and  secured  seats  for  us  at  Mr.  Van 
Berg's  table." 

14 1  wish  no  seat  there,"  she  said,  decisively. 

"Oh,  it's  all  arranged,  my  dear;  and  a  good  many  others 
want  the  seats,  but  Ik  was  too  prompt." 

"I'll  stay  where  I  am,"  said  Ida,  sullenly. 

"And  have  every  one  in  the  house  asking  why  ?"  added 
Stanton,  provokingly.  "Mr.  Van  Berg  treats  you  as  a  gen- 
tleman should.  Why  cannot  you  act  like  a  lady  toward 
him  ?  If  I  were  you  I  would  not  carry  my  preferences  for 
the  Sibley  style  of  fellows  so  far  that  I  could  not  be  civil  to 
a  man  like  my  friend. ' ' 

"You  misjudge  me,"   cried  Ida,  passionately. 

"You  have  a  strange  way  of  proving  it.  All  that  is 
asked  of  you  is  to  sit  at  the  same  table  with  a  gentleman 
who  has  won  the  respect  and  admiration  of  every  one  in  the 
hotel,  whose  society  is  peculiarly  agreeable  to  your  mother 
and  myself,  and  who  has  also  shown  unusual  courtesy  to- 
ward you  ever  since  he  learned  who  you  were.     What  else 


LOVE    PUT    TO    WORK  159 

can  I  think— what  else  can  others  think,  than  that  your 
taste  leans  so  decidedly  to  the  Sibley  style  that  you  cannot 
even   be   polite   to   a   man   of   high    culture   and    genuine 

worth?" 

"You  are  too  severe,  Ik,"  said  Mrs.  Mayhew.  "For 
some  reason  that  I  cannot  fathom,  Ida  does  not  like  this 
artist;  and  yet  I  think  myself  that  she  would  subject  her- 
self to  very  unpleasant  remarks  if  she  made  any  trouble 
about  sitting  at  the  same  table  with  him." 

"Can  you  not  see,"  retorted  Ida,  irritably,  "that  Ik  has 
not  considered  us  at  all,  but  only  himself  ?  He  wishes  to 
be  near  Miss  Burton,  and  without  giving  us  any  chance 
to  object,  has  made  all  the  arrangements  so  that  we  must 
either  comply  or  else  be  the  talk  of  the  house.  It's  just  a 
piece  of  his  selfishness,"  she  concluded  with  tears  of  vexa- 
tion in  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  come  Ida  I"  said  her  mother,  coaxingly,  "I  can  see 
only  a  mole-hill  in  this  matter,  and  I  wouldn't  make  a 
mountain  out  of  it.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  should 
enjoy  the  change  very  much,  and,  as  you  say,  the  affair  has 
gone  too  far  now  to  make  objection.  I  do  not  intend  that 
either  you  or  myself   shall   be   the  subject  of  unpleasant 

remark." 

And  so  the  matter  was  settled,  but  Ida's  coldness  and 
constraint,  when  they  all  met  at  dinner,  very  clearly  indi- 
cated that  the  change  had  been  made  without  her  consent. 
Van  Berg  addressed  her  affably  two  or  three  times,  but  re- 
ceived brief  and  discouraging  answers. 

"Your  cousin  evidently  is  not  pleased  with  the  new 
arrangement  you  have  brought  about.  I  cannot  see  what 
I  have  done  of  late  to  vex  her." 

"I'll  tell  you  the  trouble.  You  offend  her  by  not  being 
the  counterpart  of  Mr.  Sibley,"  said  Stanton,  irritably. 

Van  Berg's  brow  darkened.  "Do  you  think,"  he  asked, 
in  a  meaning  tone,  "that  she  understands  what  kind  of  a 
man  he  is?" 

"Oh,  she  knows  that  he  can  dance,  flirt,  and  talk  non* 


160  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

sense,  and  she  asks  for  nothing  more  and  thinks  of  nothing 
further.     I'm  out  of  patience  with  her." 

Stanton's  words  contained  the  most  plausible  explanation 
of  Ida's  conduct  that  occurred  to  Van  Berg.  The  episode 
in  the  stage  had  made  them  acquainted,  and  her  precon- 
ceived prejudice  and  hostility  had  been  so  far  removed  as 
to  permit  a  certain  degree  of  social  companionship,  whose 
result  would  now  seem  only  increased  dislike  and  distaste. 
As  he  supposed  she  would  express  herself,  "he  was  not  of 
her  style."  Had  she  not  spent  the  greater  part  of  Sunday 
afternoon  and  evening  with  Sibley?  What  other  conclu- 
sion was  there  save  that  he  was  "of  her  style,"  congenial 
both  in  thought  and  character!  And  yet  he  still  refused  to 
entertain  the  belief  that  she  recognized  in  him  more  than 
a  fashionable  man  of  the  world. 

If  only  as  the  result  of  the  pique  originating  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  concert,  Ida  Mayhew  had  stood  aloof  from  him, 
he  could  hope  to  remove  this  early  prejudice  by  better  ac- 
quaintance. But  if  fuller  acquaintance  increased  her  aver- 
sion, then  he  must  believe  that  the  defects  in  her  character 
were  radical,  inwrought  through  the  whole  web  and  woof  of 
her  nature.  He  could  not  assume  the  ll  Sibley  style"  if  he 
would,  and  would  not  if  he  could,  were  her  beauty  a  hun- 
dred-fold greater,  were  that  possible. 

He  was  fast  coming  to  the  conclusion,  therefore,  that  he 
must  abandon  the  project  which  had  so  fascinated  him,  and 
whose  success  had  so  strongly  kindled  his  imagination. 
And  yet  he  did  so  reluctantly,  very  regretfully,  chafing  as 
only  the  strong-willed  do,  when  confronted  and  thwarted 
by  that  which  is  only  apparently  impossible,  and  which 
they  still  feel  might  and  ought  to  be  accomplished. 

"I  feel  as  the  old  alchemists  must  have  done,"  he  often 
thought.    "Here  is  a  base  metal     Why  can  I  not  transmute 

it  into  gold  ?' ' 

But  as  the  conviction  of  his  impotence  grew  upon  him 
he  felt  something  like  resentment  toward  the  one  who  had 
thwarted  his  purpose;    and  so  it  naturally  happened  that 


LOVE    PUT    TO    WORK  161 

when  they  met  again  at  the  supper-table,  his  cool  and  indif- 
ferent manner  corresponded  with  that  of  Miss  Mayhew  to  a 
degree  that  gave  her  a  deeper  pain  than  she  could  understand. 

"Why  should  she  care?"  she  asked  herself  a  hundred 
times  that  evening.  But  the  unpleasant  truth  hourly  grew 
more  plain  to  her  that  she  did  care. 

Stanton  and  her  mother  quietly  ignored  her  "foolish 
pique,"  as  they  termed  it.  In  truth  the  former  was  so  pre- 
occupied with  Miss  Burton,  and  with  jealousy  of  his  friend, 
that  he  had  few  thoughts  for  anything  else. 

He  admitted  to  himself  that  he  had  never  before  been  so 
thoroughly  fascinated  and  awakened;  and  it  was  in  accord- 
ance with  his  pleasure- loving,  self-indulgent  nature  to  drift 
on  this  shining  tide  whithersoever  it  might  carry  him. 

But  with  a  growing  feeling  of  disquietude  he  saw  that 
Van  Berg  also  was  deeply  interested  in  Miss  Burton,  and, 
what  was  worse,  he  thought  he  detected  an  answering  inter- 
est on  her  part. 

Occasionally,  when  the  artist's  face  was  turned  away  so 
that  she  obtained  a  good  profile  view  of  it,  Stanton  observed 
her  looking  at  him  with  an  expression  which  both  puzzled 
and  troubled  him.  She  seemed  to  forget  everything  and 
every  one,  and  to  gaze  for  a  moment  with  a  wistful,  longing 
intensity  that  he  would  give  his  fortune  for  were  the  glance 
directed  toward  himself.  And  yet  when  Van  Berg  ad- 
dressed her,  sought  her  society,  met  her  suddenly,  there 
was  no  heightening  of  color,  nor  a  trace  of  the  "sweet  con- 
fusion" that  is  usually  inseparable  from  a  new  and  growing 
affection  in  a  maiden's  heart. 

Apart  from  this  occasional,  furtive,  and  wistful  look 
during  which  her  cheeks  would  grow  pale  and  she  appear 
for  the  moment  oblivious  of  present  surroundings,  her  man- 
ner toward  the  artist  was  as  frank  and  natural  as  toward  any 
one  else.  It  was  evident  that  she  liked  and  respected  him, 
but  even  his  jealousy  could  not  detect  the  certainty  of  any- 
thing more. 

But  what  was  the  tendency  of  Van  Berg's  mind  toward 


162  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

her  ?  That  was  the  question  which  troubled  him  more  and 
more  every  day.  From  the  time  of  their  parting  on  the 
previous  Sabbath  evening  there  had  been  a  growing  reluc- 
tance on  the  part  of  each  to  speak  of  one  who  so  largely 
occupied  the  thoughts  of  both.  The  old  jest  and  banter 
about  the  "school-ma'am"  ceased  utterly,  and  they  men- 
tioned her  only  occasionally  as  "Miss  Burton."  The  old 
frank  confidence  between  them  diminished  daily,  and  in 
their  secret  consciousness  they  began  to  recognize  the  fact 
that  they  might  soon  become  open  rivals. 

The  attitude  of  Van  Berg  toward  the  young  stranger  who 
had  so  deeply  interested  him  from  the  first  hour  of  their 
meeting,  was  peculiar  but  characteristic.  His  reason  ap- 
proved of  her.  Never  before  had  he  met  a  woman  who 
had  seemed  endowed  with  so  many  attractive  qualities. 
She  was  not  beautiful — a  cardinal  virtue  with  him — but 
her  face  often  lighted  up  with  something  so  near  akin  to 
beauty  as  to  leave  little  cause  to  regret  its  absence,  and  the 
conviction  grew  upon  him  that  the  spirit  enshrined  within 
the  graceful  and  fragile  form  was  almost  perfection  itself. 

It  became  clearer  to  him  every  day  that  some  deep  ex- 
perience or  sorrow  had  so  thoroughly  refined  away  the  dross 
of  her  nature  as  to  make  her  seem  the  embodiment  of  truth 
and  purity.  What  though  she  still  maintained  complete 
reticence  as  to  the  past,  avoiding  in  their  conversations  all 
allusion  to  herself,  as  far  as  possible;  he  still,  in  his  inmost 
soul,  knew  he  could  trust  her,  and  that  while  her  smiling 
face,  like  the  sunlit  rippling  surface  of  mountain  lakes  not 
far  away,  might  hide  dark,  silent  depths,  it  concealed  noth- 
ing impure. 

He  also  felt  that  there  was  no  occasion  to  imagine  any 
deep  mystery  to  be  a  part  of  her  past  history.  The  facts 
that  she  was  poor  and  orphaned  suggested  all  the  explana- 
tions needed,  and  he  felt  sure  that  the  sorrows  she  so 
sacredly  and  unselfishly  shrouded  from  the  general  view 
would  be  frankly  revealed  to  the  man  who  might  win  the 
right  to  comfort  and  sustain  her. 


LOVE    PUT    TO    WORK  163 

Could  he  win  this  right?  Did  he  wish  to  win  it?  As 
day  after  day  passed  he  felt  this  question  to  be  growing 
more  and  more  vitally  important. 

He  was  not  one  he  believed  who,  like  Stanton,  could  be 
carried  away  by  a  sudden  and  absorbing  passion.  In  any 
and  every  case,  reason,  judgment,  and  taste  would  offer 
their  counsel,  and  their  advice  would  be  carefully  weighed. 
With  increasing  distinctness,  this  cabinet  within  his  own 
breast  urged  him  to  observe  this  maiden  well  lest  the  chief 
opportunity  of  his  life  pass  beyond  recall. 

And  he  did  study  her  character  carefully.  Stanton,  with 
the  keen  pain  of  jealousy,  and  Ida  Mayhew  with  a  disquiet 
and  sinking  of  heart  that  she  could  not  understand,  noted 
that  he  very  quietly  and  unobtrusively  sought  her  society. 
When  she  spoke,  he  listened.  When  it  was  possible  with- 
out attracting  attention  his  eyes  followed  her,  and  yet  his 
conduct  was  governed  so  thoroughly  by  good  taste  and  a 
chivalric  regard  for  the  lady  herself,  that  only  eyes  rendered 
penetrating  by  the  promptings  of  the  heart  would  have  seen 
anything  more  than  the  general  friendliness  which  she  in- 
spired on  every  side. 

Stanton,  on  the  contrary,  grew  more  undisguised  and 
demonstrative  in  his  attentions,  although  he  aimed  to  con- 
ceal his  feeling  under  the  humorous  and  bantering  style  of 
address  that  was  habitual  with  him.  The  guests  of  the 
house  were  not  very  long  in  recognizing  in  him  an  admirer 
of  Miss  Burton,  but  they  imagined  that  his  devotion  was 
caused  more  by  a  wish  to  while  away  his  idle  hours  than 
from  any  other  motive;  and  it  was  also  quite  evident  that 
the  young  lady  herself  took  the  same  view.  She  gave  a 
light  and  humorous  aspect  to  everything  he  said,  and  per- 
mitted him  scarcely  an  opportunity  for  a  solitary  tete-a-tete. 
In  vain  he  placed  his  bays  and  buggy  at  her  disposal. 

"I  am  social  and  gregarious  in  my  tastes,"  she  would 
reply,  "and  need  the  exhilaration  of  a  party  to  enjoy 
myself." 

Thus  Stanton  was  led  to  a  course  of  action  decidedly  in 


164  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

contrast  with  his     isl      3.dencies.     He  would  attach  his  t 
to  a  roomy  carriage,  giving  her  a  carte- blanche  in  making 
up  the  par  be  would  be  one  of  the  number.     He  would 

-pire  like  a  hero  in  any  boating  excursion  or  picnic  that 
s_e  would  originate:  and  thus  the  il  :ous  and  elegant 
fellow  often  found  himself  in  unwonted  company,  for,  with 
an  instinct  peculiarly  her  own,  she  soon  found  out  the  com- 
paratively poor  and  neglected  in  the  hotel,  and  appeared  to 
derive  her  chief   pleasure    in   enlivening    their  dull  c 

ed  Stanton  early  learned  that  the  surest  way  of 
winning  a  smile  from  her  was  to  be  polite  to  people  that, 
hitherto,  he  had  habitually  ignored-  To  Miss  Burton  her- 
self he  made  n<:  secret  of  the  fact  that  his  course  was 
prompted  only  b 7  please  her,  but  she  smilingly 

persisted  in  ascribing  it  all  to  his  gocd- nature  and  kindness 


MAN  S    HIGHEST   HONOR  166 


CHAPTER  XIX 
man's  highest  honor 

VAN  BERG  had  not  been  very  long  in  discovering  that 
Burton  had  a  ruling  passion,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  a  rather  unique  one.  He  was  familiar  with  the 
many  forms  of  self-seeking,  common  in  society;  he  knew 
of  those  who  were  devoted  to  literature,  science,  or  some 
rite  calling,  as  he  was  to  his  art;  he  had  seen  a  few  who 
apparentlv  so  abounded  in  genial  gcod- nature  that  they 
rarely  lost  an  opportunity  of  performing  a  kind  act;  and 
there  were  men  and  women  in  the  world  who,  he  believed, 
had  fully  consecrated  themselves  to  the  work  of  doing  good 
from  the  purest  and  divinest  motives;  but  he  did  not  re- 
member of  ever  having  met  with  one  whose  whole  thought 
appeared  bent  on  disseminating  immediate  sunshine. 

And  vet  this  seemed  true  of  Miss  Burton.  With  admi- 
rable tact,  with  a  tireless  patience,  and  an  energy  out  of  pro- 
portion in  one  so  fragile,  she  kept  herself  quietly  and  unob- 
trusivelv  busv  among  the  miscellaneous  people  of  the  house. 
Her  charity  was  wide  enough  for  all.  Wherever  she  could 
discover  gloom,  despondency,  dulness,  or  pain,  there  she 
tried  to  shine  like  a  sunbeam,  as  if  that  were  the  primal  law 
of  her  being.  She  rarely  sought  to  "do  good"  in  the  ordi- 
nary acceptance  of  the  term;  still  more  rarely  did  she  speak 
of  her  own  personal  faith;  to  cheer  and  to  brighten  appeared 
to  be  her  one  constant  impulse.  It  was  evident  that  this 
had  become  a  kind  of  second  nature  in  her  now;  but  the 
thought  occurred  more  than  once  to  Van  Berg  that  she  had 
adopted  this  course  at  first  to  escape  from  herself  and  her 


':  a    FACE   ILLCMISED 

own  unhapp y  memories.     £ 

tion  that  sorrow  was  the  black,  heavy  soil  that  produced 

:i:=  :::■',::  :i:-:~   ::  iisf.zs^  ife  is 

Before  the  week  was  ot  gave  him  special  reason 

to  believe  that  this  was  true.     They  were  wal 
down  the  piazza  one  ag  and  had  been  talking  with 

much  animation  on  a  subject  of  mutual  interest.     But  she 
proved  that  there  was  in  her  mind  a  deeper  and  s;: 
current  of  thought  than  that  which  had  been  apparent. 
the  duskiness  increased,  and  as  in  their  promenade  t! 
faces  were  turned  away  from  those  who  might  have  ob- 
served them,  she  said  a  little  abruptly  »nd  yet  with  tremu- 
i:  ii  _t5  -,c.z:j: 

Ymm  Berg,   doe  r   philosophy  teac-  to 

believe,  as  you  sang,  on  Sabbath  evening,  that 

I  :   *  *  -  r 


Before  answering  he  turned  to  look  at  her.  Her  face 
seemed  to  stand  out  from  the  gloom  of  the  night  with  a 
light  of  its  own,  and  was  so  white  and  eager  as  to  be  almost 
spirit- like.     His  tones  were  sad  as  he  repl: 

I  wish  I  could  answer  you  otherwise  than  as  I  must, 
for  the  impulse  to  say  some  words  of  comfort,  which  I  feel 
to*  need  I  only  sang  of  what  I  wished  on 

Sand  I  have  little  philosophy,  an  ess  of 

definite  belief  in  regard  to  the  future  life      While  I  am 
a  theoretic  sceptic,  ail  question  ;h  are  to  me  so  vague 

and  incomprehensible  that  I  am  a  practical  materialist,  and 

"But,  Mr.  Van  Berg,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tremulous  tone, 
an  you  not  understand  that  some  people  cannot  live  in  the 
present  howr,  try  as  they  may  ?    Oh,  how  desperately  hard 
I  tried  to  do  5  not  imagine  that  somett 

one  s  past  may  make  a  future  necessary  to  save  from  de- 
spair? If  I  lost  my  hold  on  that  future  I  should  go  mad/' 
she  added  in  a  whisper.     "How  can  any  materialistic  phi- 


MAN'S    HIGHEST    HONOR  167 

losophy  be  true  when  it  fails  us  and  so  bitterly  disappoints 
us  in  our  need  ?' ' 

"I  do  not  say  it  is  true/'  he  replied,  earnestly.  "Indeed 
your  words  and  manner  prove  to  me,  as  could  no  labored 
argument,  what  a  poor  superficial  thing  it  is.  I  feel,  with 
the  force  of  conviction,  that  it  can  no  more  meet  your  need 
than  could  the  husks  which  the  swine  did  eat." 

Since  you  were  sincere,  I  will  be  also,"  she  continued 
in  the  same  low  tone,  looking  away  from  him  into  the  dark 
cloudy  sky.  "As  the  hymn  I  sung  may  have  suggested  to 
you,  I  have  not  got  very  far  beyond  mere  submission  and 
hope.  Something  in  my  own  soul  as  well  as  in  revelation 
tells  me  that  there  is  a  'happier  shore,'  and  I  am  trying  to 
reach  it;  but  the  way,  too  often,  is  like  that  sky,  utterly 
opaque  and  ray  less. " 

'I  regret  more  deeply  than  you  can  ever  know,  Miss 
Burton,  that  I  find  nothing  in  my  own  knowledge  or  expe- 
rience to  help  you.  I  can  offer  my  honest  sympathy,  and 
that  vou  have  had  from  the  first;  for  from  the  time  of  our 
first  meeting  the  impression  has  been  growing  upon  me  that 
your  character  had  obtained  its  power  and  beauty  through 
some  deep  and  sorrowful  experience.  But  while  I  am  un- 
able to  give  you  any  help,  perhaps  I  can  suggest  a  pleasant 
thought  from  vour  own  illustration.  The  black  clouds  von- 
der  which  seem  to  you  a  true  type  of  the  shadows  that  have 
fallen  across  your  path,  are,  after  all,  but  a  film  in  the  sky. 
The  sun,  and  a  multitude  of  other  luminous  worlds,  are 
shining  beyond  them  in  the  heavens.  I  would  I  had  your 
chances  of  reaching  a  'happier  shore.'  " 

"That's  a  pretty  sentiment,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head 
slowly;  "but  those  luminous  worlds  are  a  great  way  off, 
with  cold  and  vast  reaches  of  space  between  them.  Be- 
sides, a  luminous  world  would  not  do  me  one  bit  of  good. 
I  want — "  she  stopped  abruptly  with  something  like  a  low 
sob.  "There,  there,"  she  resumed  hastily  dashing  away  a 
few  tears.  "I  have  occupied  your  thoughts  too  long  with 
my  forlorn  little  self.     I  did  not  mean  to  show  this  weak- 


168  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

ness,  but  have  been  betrayed  into  doing  so,  I  think,  be- 
cause you  impressed  me  as  being  honest,  and  I  thought  that 
perhaps— perhaps  your  man's  reason  might  have  thought 
out  some  argument  or  probable  conjecture  relating  to  the 
subject  that,  for  causes  obvious  to  you,  would  be  naturally 
interesting  to  one  so  alone  in  the  world  as  I  am." 

"I  am  sorry  indeed  that  I  never  used  my  reason  to  so 
good  a  purpose,"  he  replied;  "and  yet,  as  I  said  at  first, 
these  subjects  have  ever  seemed  to  me  so  above  and  beyond 
my  reason  that  I  have  carelessly  given  them  the  go-by. 
My  profession  has  wholly  absorbed  me  since  I  have  been 
capable  of  anything  worth  the  name  of  thought,  and  the 
world,  toward  which  your  mind  is  turning,  is  so  large  and 
vague  that  I  cannot  even  follow  you,  much  less  guide." 

She  sighed:  "It  is  indeed  'large  and  vague.'  "  Then 
she  added  in  firm,  quiet  tones:  "Mr.  Van  Berg,  please  for- 
get what  I  have  said.  The  weak  must  show  their  weakness 
at  times  in  spite  of  themselves,  and  your  kindness  and  sin- 
cerity have  beguiled  me  into  inflicting  myself  upon  you." 

"You  ask  that  which  is  impossible,  Miss  Burton,"  he 
replied  earnestly.  "I  cannot  forget  what  you  have  said, 
nor  do  I  wish  to.  I  need  not  assure  you,  however,  that  I 
regard  your  confidence  as  sacred  as  if  it  came  from  my  own 
sister.  Will  you  also  let  me  say  that  I  never  felt  so  hon- 
ored before  in  my  life  as  I  have  to-night,  in  the  fact  that 
I  seemed  to  your  woman's  intuition  worthy  of  your  trust." 

They  were  now  turned  toward  the  light  that  streamed 
dimly  from  one  of  the  windows.  She  looked  up  to  him 
with' a  bright,  grateful  smile,  but  she  apparently  saw  some- 
thing in  his  eager  face  and  manner  which  checked  her  smile 
as  suddenly  as  if  he  had  been  an  apparition. 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  saying  hastily,  "Good- night, 
Mr.  Van  Berg;  I  thank  you.  I— I— do  not  feel  very  well," 
and  she  passed  swiftly  to  a  side  door  and  disappeared. 


A  WRETCHED  SECRET  THAT  MUST  BE  KEPT        169 


CHAPTER  XX 
A  WRETCHED  SECRET  THAT   MUST  BE   KEPT 

THE  interview  described  in  the  previous  chapter  touched 
Van  Berg  deeply,  but  its  close  puzzled  him.  Under 
the  influence  of  his  aroused  feelings  had  his  face  ex- 
pressed more  than  mere  sympathy  ?  Had  her  strong  intui- 
tion, that  was  like  a  second-sight,  interpreted  his  heart 
more  clearly  than  he  had  been  able  to  understand  it  him- 
self as  yet  ?  Reason  and  judgment,  his  privy  council,  had 
already  begun  to  advise  him  to  win  if  possible  this  unselfish 
maiden,  who  with  a  divine  alchemy  transmuted  her  shadows 
into  sunshine  for  others,  and  often  suggested  the  thought, 
if  she  can  do  this  in  sorrow,  how  inexpressibly  happy  she 
might  make  you  and  your  aged  father  and  mother  if  you 
could  first  find  out  in  some  way  how  to  make  her  happy. 

Indeed,  so  clear  a  case  did  these  counsellors  make  out, 
that  conscience  added  her  authoritative  voice  also,  and  as- 
sured him  that  he  would  be  false  to  himself  and  his  future 
did  he  not,  to  the  utmost,  avail  himself  of  the  opportunity 
of  winning  one  whose  society  from  the  first  had  been  an 
inspiration  to  better  thoughts  and  better  living. 

Until  this  evening  his  heart  had  remained  sluggish. 
Sweet  and.  potent  as  her  voice  had  been,  it  had  not  pene- 
trated to  the  "holy  of  holies"  within  his  soul.  But  had  not 
her  low  sad  tones  echoed  there  to-night  in  the  half-involun- 
tary confidence  she  had  given  him  ? 

In  his  deep  sympathy,  in  the  answering  feeling  evoked 
by  her  strong  but  repressed  emotion,  he  thought  his  heart 
had  been  stirred  to  its  depths,  and  that  henceforth  its  chief 

8— Rob— XII 


170  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

desire  would  be  to  banish  the  sorrowful  memories  typified 
to  her  mind  by  the  black  clouds  above  him.  Had  his  face 
revealed  this  impulse  of  his  heart  before  he  had  been  fully 
conscious  of  it  himself  ?  Was  it  an  unwelcome  discovery, 
that  she  so  hastily  fled  from  it?  Or  had  she  been  only 
startled — her  maidenly  reserve  shrinking  from  the  first  fore- 
shadowing of  the  supreme  request  that  she  should  unveil 
the  mysteries  of  her  life  to  one  who  but  now  had  been  a 
stranger  ?  He  did  not  know.  He  felt  he  scarcely  understood 
her  or  himself;  but  he  was  conscious  of  a  hope  that  both 
might  meet  their  happy  fate  in  each  other. 

He  leaned  thus  for  a  time  absorbed  in  thought  against  a 
pillar  where  she  had  left  him,  then  sauntered  with  bowed 
head  and  preoccupied  manner  to  the  main  entrance,  down 
the  steps  and  out  into  the  darkness.  He  did  not  even  notice 
that  he  passed  Ida  Mayhew,  where  she  stood  among  a  group 
of  gay  chattering  young  people.  Still  less  did  he  know  that 
she  had  been  furtively  watching  his  interview  with  Miss  Bur- 
ton, and  that  when  he  passed  her  without  a  glance  her  face 
was  as  paie  as  had  been  that  of  the  object  of  his  thoughts. 
But  he  had  not  strolled  very  far  down  a  gravelled  path  be- 
fore she  compelled  him  to  distinguish  her  reckless  laugh 
and  tones  above  all  the  others. 

With  an  impatient  gesture,  he  muttered,  "God  made 
them  both,  1  suppose;   and  so  there's  another  mystery." 

As  Van  Berg's  interest  in  Miss  Burton  had  deepened,  it 
had  naturally  flagged  toward  the  one  whose  marvellously 
fair  features  had  first  caught  his  attention,  and  now  prom- 
ised to  be  links  in  a  chain  of  causes  that  might  produce 
effects  little  anticipated.  He  had  virtually  abandoned  the 
project  of  seeking  to  ennoble  and  harmonize  these  features 
that  suggested  new  possibilities  of  beauty  to  almost  every 
glance,  for  the  reason  that  he  not  only  believed  there  was 
tjio  mind  to  be  awakened,  but  also  because  he  had  been  led 
to  think  the  girl  so  depraved  and  selfish  at  heart  that  the 
very  thought  of  a  larger,  purer  life  was  repugnant  to  her. 
He   believed  she  disliked  and  even  detested  him,  not  so 


A  WRETCHED  SECRET  THAT  MUST  BE  KEPT         171 

much  on  personal  grounds  as  because  he  represented  to  her 
mind  a  class  of  ideas  and  a  self-restraint  that  were  hateful. 
Circumstances  had  associated  her  in  his  mind  with  Sibley, 
who  thus  cast  a  baleful  shadow  athwart  even  her  beauty 
and  made  it  repulsive.  Indeed  the  mocking  perfection  of 
her  features  irritated  him,  and  he  began  to  make  a  con- 
scious and  persistent  effort  not  to  look  toward  her.  He 
now  regarded  his  hope  to  illumine  her  face  from  within, 
by  delicate  touches  of  mind,  thought,  and  motive,  as  vain 
as  an  attempt  to  carve  the  Venus  of  Milo  out  of  mottled 
pumice-stone.  Still,  he  did  not  regret  to-night  the  freak  of 
fancy  that  had  brought  him  to  the  Lake  House,  since  it  had 
led  to  his  meeting  a  woman  who  was  to  him  a  new  and  beau- 
tiful revelation  of  the  rarest  excellence  and  grace. 

But  there  was  no  such  compensating  outlook  for  poor 
Ida.  To  her,  his  coming  promised  daily  to  result  in  in- 
creasing wretchedness.  From  the  miserable  Sunday  night 
on  which  she  had  sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  the,  consciousness 
had  continually  grown  clearer  that  she  could  never  find  in 
her  old  mode  of  life  any  satisfying  pleasure.  She  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  something  so  much  better,  that  her  former 
world  looked  as  tawdry  as  the  mimic  scenery  of  a  second- 
rate  theatre.  A  genuine  man,  such  as  she  had  not  seen,  or 
at  least  not  recognized  before,  had  stepped  out  before  the 
gilt  and  tinsel,  and  the  miserable  shams  were  seen  in  con- 
trast in  their  rightful  character. 

But,  in  bringing  the  revelation,  it  happened  he  had  so 
deeply  wounded  her  pride  that  she  had  assured  herself, 
again  and  again,  she  would  hate  his  very  name  as  long  as 
she  lived.  Did  she  hate  him  as  she  saw  him  absorbed  in 
conversation  with  Miss  Burton  whenever  he  could  obtain 
the  opportunity  ?  Did  she  hate  him  as  she  saw  that  his 
eyes  consciously  avoided  her  and  rested  approvingly  on 
another  woman  ?  Were  hate  and  love  so  near  akin  ?  Could 
the  belief  that  he  despised  her  make  her  so  wretched  if  she 
only  hated  him  ? 

During  the  early  part  of  the  present  week  she  had  strug- 


172  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

gled  almost  fiercely  to  retain  her  hold  on  her  old  life. 
Uniting  herself  to  a  clique  of  thoughtless  young  people, 
who  made  amusement  and  excitement  their  only  pursuit, 
she  seemed  to  be  the  gayest  and  most  reckless  of  them  all, 
while  her  heart  was  sinking  like  lead.  Every  glance  toward 
the  cold,  averted  face  of  the  artist  inspired  her  with  more 
than  his  own  scorn  toward  what  she  was  and  the  frivolities 
of  her  life.  She  tried  to  shut  her  eyes  to  the  truth,  and 
clung  desperately  to  every  impeding  trifle;  but  felt  all  the 
time  that  an  irresistible  tide  of  events  was  carrying  her 
toward  the  revelation  that  she  loved  a  man  who  despised 
her,  and  always  would  despise  her. 

And  on  this  night,  when  she  saw  their  dim  forms  and 
heard  their  low  tones  as  Miss  Burton  and  Van  Berg  talked 
earnestly  on  the  further  end  of  the  piazza;  when  she  saw 
that  they  grasped  hands  in  parting,  and  noted  the  rapt  look 
upon  his  face  as  he  passed  her  by  uncaringly  and  unnoting- 
ly — the  revelation  came.  It  was  as  sharply  and  painfully 
distinct  as  if  he  had  stopped  and  plunged  a  knife  into  her 
heart. 

With  all  her  faults  and  follies,  Ida  had  never  been  a  pale 
shadowy  creature,  full  of  complex  psychological  moods 
which  neither  she  nor  any  one  else  could  untangle.  She 
knew  whom  and  what  she  liked  and  disliked,  and  it  was 
not  her  nature  to  do  things  by  halves.  There  had  always 
been  a  kind  of  simplicity  and  straightforwardness  even  in 
her  wickedness;  and  she  usually  seemed  to  people  quite  as 
bad  as,  and  indeed  worse,  than  she  really  was. 

Why  of  all  others  she  loved  this  man,  and  how  it  all  had 
come  about,  was  a  mystery  that  puzzled  her  sorely;  but  she 
had  no  labyrinthine  heart  in  which  to  play  hide-and-seek 
with  her  own  consciousness.  And  so  vividly  conscious  was 
she  now  of  this  new  and  absorbing  passion,  that  she  hastily 
turned  her  face  from  her  companions  toward  the  cloudy  sky, 
that  looked  as  dark  to  her  as  it  had  to  Jennie  Burton,  and 
for  a  moment  sought  desperately  to  recover  from  a  dizzy, 
reeling   sense   of   pain   that  was   well-nigh   overwhelming. 


A  WRETCHED  SECRET  THAT  MUST  BE  KEPT         173 

Then  the  womanly  instinct  to  hide  her  secret  asserted 
itself,  and  a  moment  later  her  laugh  jarred  discordantly 
on  Van  Berg's  ears,  and  he  interpreted  it  as  wisely  as  have 
thousands  of  others  who  fail  to  recognize  the  truth  that 
often  no  cry  of  pain  is  so  bitter  as  a  reckless  laugh. 

A  little  later,  however,  her  companions  missed  her. 
Later  still,  her  mother  sought  admission  to  her  room 
in  vain. 

When  she  came  down  to  breakfast  the  next  morning, 
she  was  very  quiet  and  self-possessed,  but  her  face  was  so 
pale  and  the  traces  of  suffering  were  so  manifest  that  her 
mother  insisted  that  she  was  not  well. 

She  coldly  admitted  the  fact. 

The  voluble  lady  launched  out  into  an  indefinite  number 
of  questions  and  suggestions  of  remedies. 

"Mother,"  said  Ida,  with  a  flash  of  her  eyes  and  an  ac- 
cent which  caused  not  only  that  lady  but  several  others  to 
look  toward  her  with  a  little  surprise,  "if  you  have  any- 
thing further  to  say  to  me  in  regard  to  my  health,  please 
say  it  in  my  own  room. ' ' 

Van  Berg  glanced  toward  her  several  times  after  this, 
and  was  compellf  d  to  admit  that  whatever  fault  he  might 
justly  find,  the  face  with  which  she  confronted  him  that 
morning  was  anything  but  weak  and  trivial  in  its  expression. 

But  her  icy  reserve  and  coldness  did  not  compare  favor- 
ably with  Miss  Burton,  who  had  now  fully  regained  her 
smiling  reticence,  acting,  as  usual,  as  if  the  only  law  of  her 
being  was  to  utter  genial  words  and  to  bestow  with  con- 
summate tact  little  gifts  of  attention  and  kindness  on  every 
side,  as  the  summer  sun  without  was  scattering  its  viviiy< 
ing  rays. 


174  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 


M 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  DELIBERATE   WOOER 

ISS  BUBTON'S  bearing  toward  Van  Berg  was  very 
friendly,  but  he  failed  to  detect  in  her  manner  the 
slightest  proof  that  she  had  ever  thought  of  him 
otherwise  than  as  a  friend.  There  was  no  sudden  drooping 
of  her  eyelashes  or  heightening  of  color  when  he  spoke  to 
her  or  permitted  his  eyes  to  dwell  upon  her  face  with  an 
expression  that  was  rather  more  than  friendly.  He  could 
detect  no  furtive  glances,  nothing  to  indicate  that  she  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  that  secret  so  interesting  to  every 
woman  that  she  would  look  again,  though  cold  as  ice  tow- 
ard the  man  cherishing  it.  Nor  was  there  the  slightest 
trace  of  the  constraint  and  reserve  by  which  all  women  who 
are  not  coquettes  seek  to  check,  as  with  an  early  frost, 
the  first  growth  of  an  unwelcome  regard.  Her  manner  was 
simply  what  would  be  natural  toward  a  gentleman  she 
thoroughly  respected  and  liked,  but  with  whom  her 
thoughts,  for  no  hidden  cause,  were  especially  preoccupied. 
Why  then  had  she  looked  at  him  so  strangely  the  pre- 
ceding evening  ?  Why  had  she  apparently  shrunk  from  the 
expression  of  his  face,  as  if  she  had  seen  there  a  revelation 
so  sudden  and  overwhelming  that  she  trembled  at  it  as 
a  shy,  sensitive  maiden  might  in  recognizing  the  fact  that  a 
strong,  resolute  man  was  seeking  entrance  to  the  very  cit- 
adel of  her  heart  ?  He  felt  himself  utterly  unable  to  explain 
her  action. 

What  was  more,  he  was  puzzled  at  himself.     The  sym- 
pathy he  felt  for   Miss  Burton  the  previous  evening  had 


A    DELIBERATE    WOOER  175 

not  by  any  means  left  him,  but  it  was  no  longer  a  strong 
and  absorbing  emotion.  His  pulse  was  as  calm  and  quiet 
as  the  breathless  summer  morning.  He  was  conscious  of  no 
premonitory  chills  and  thrills,  which,  according  to  his  pre- 
conceived notions  of  the  grand  passion,  ought  to  be  felt 
even  in  its  incipiency.  He  even  found  himself  criticising 
her  face,  and  wondering  how  features  so  ordinary  in  them- 
selves could  combine  in  so  winning  and  happy  an  effect; 
and  then  he  mentally  cursed  his  cold-bloodedness,  and  posi- 
tively envied  Stanton,  in  whose  manner,  in  spite  of  his 
efforts  at  concealment,  an  ardent  affection  began  to  mani- 
fest itself. 

During  the  day  it  occurred  to  him  more  than  once  that 
her  course  was  changing  toward  Stanton.  There  was  no  less 
return  on  her  part  of  his  light  bantering  style  of  conversa- 
tion. Indeed,  she  seemed  to  take  pains  to  give  a  humorous 
twist  to  everything  he  said,  as  if  she  regarded  even  the 
words  in  which  he  tried  to  unfold  his  deeper  thoughts  as 
mere  jests.  But  Van  Berg  imagined  she  began  to  make 
herself  more  inaccessible  to  Stanton.  She  intrenched  her- 
self among  other  guests  in  the  parlor;  she  took  pains  to  be 
so  occupied  as  to  make  him  feel  that  his  approach  would 
be  an  interruption;  and  whenever  they  did  meet  at  the  table 
and  elsewhere,  it  appeared  as  if  she  were  trying  to  teach 
him  by  a  smiling,  friendly  indifference  that  he  was  not  in 
her  thoughts  at  all. 

The  positive  coldness  and  aversion  Ida  sought  to  mani- 
fest, toward  Van  Berg  would  not  have  been  so  dishearten- 
ing as  Miss  Burton's  device  of  seeming  to  be  so  agreeably 
preoccupied  with  other  people  that  she  could  not  or  would 
not  see  the  offering  Stanton  was  eager  to  lay  at  her  feet. 

He  felt  this  keenly,  and  chafed  under  it;  but  her  woman's 
tact  made  her  shining  armor  invulnerable.  She  persisted  in 
regarding  him  as  the  gay,  self-seeking,  pleasure-  loving  man 
of  the  world  that  she  had  recognized  him  to  be  on  the  first 
day  of  their  acquaintance.  He  imagined  that  a  great  and 
radical  change  had  taken  place  in  his  nature,  but  she  gave 


176  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

him  no  opportunity  of  telling  her  so.  At  first  she  had,  with 
laughing  courtesy,  ignored  his  gallantry,  as  if  it  were  only 
a  fashion  of  his  toward  any  woman  who  for  the  time  hap- 
pened to  take  his  fancy;  but  so  far  from  shunning  him,  she 
had  seemed  inclined  to  employ  what  she  regarded  as  a 
caprice  or  a  bit  of  male  coquetry,  as  the  means  of  adding 
to  the  enjoyment  of  as  many  as  possible;  and  Van  Berg  had 
often  smiled  to  see  his  languid  friend  of  yore  seconding  Miss 
Burton's  efforts  with  an  apparent  zeal  that  was  quite  mar- 
vellous. To  Stanton's  infinite  relief,  Van  Berg  did  not  twit 
him  concerning  this  surprising  departure  from  his  old  ways. 
Indeed,  Miss  Burton  had  become  too  delicate  and  sacred 
a  theme  in  both  of  their  minds  to  permit  of  their  old  banter. 
They  had  been  friends  and  were  so  still,  yet  each  recognized 
the  fact  that  events  were  coming  that  would  sorely  test  and 
perhaps  destroy  their  friendship.  While  they  gradually  fell 
aloof,  as  men  will  who  are  learning  that  their  dearest  inter- 
ests are  destined  to  conflict,  they  each  tried  nevertheless  to 
maintain  an  honorable  rivalry,  and  their  bearing  toward 
each  other,  although  tinged  with  a  growing  reticence  and 
dignity,  was  genuinely  kind  and  courteous. 

As  the  week  drew  to  a  close,  however,  it  gave  Van  Berg 
pleasure — though  not  by  any  means  in  the  same  degree  that 
it  caused  Stanton  pain — to  observe  that  Miss  Burton  was 
shunning  the  latter1  s  society  as  far  as  politeness  permitted. 

At  the  same  time,  while  she  evidently  enjoyed  his  com- 
panionship, Van  Berg  observed  that  she  did  not  seem  to 
specially  crave  it;  nor  in  truth  did  he  find  himself  when 
away  from  her  distrait,  vacant,  and  miserable,  as  was  mani- 
festly the  case  with  his  friend.  He  concluded  that  it  was 
difference  of  temperament — that  it  was  his  nature  to  be 
governed  by  judgment  and  taste,  as  it  was  that  of  Stanton 
to  be  swayed  by  feeling  and  passion.  All  the  higher  facul- 
ties of  his  mind  gave  their  voice  for  this  woman  with  in- 
creasing emphasis.  His  heart  undoubtedly  would  slowly 
and  surely  gravitate  in  the  same  direction. 

How  to  win  her,  therefore,  was  gradually  becoming  the 


A    DELIBERATE    WOOER  177 

one  interesting  and  most  difficult  question  he  had  to  solve. 
Although  she  was  poor  and  alone  in  the  world,  it  was  evi- 
dent that  mere  wealth  and  position  would  count  but  little 
with  her.  Stanton  was  handsome,  rich,  well  connected,  and 
intelligent;  but  it  seemed  clear,  as  she  recognized  the  sin- 
cerity of  his  suit,  she  withdrew  from  it.  Some  coarse,  ill- 
natured  people  in  the  house,  who  at  first,  with  significant 
nods,  had  intimated  that  "the  little  school-ma'am"  was 
bent  on  bettering  her  fortunes,  were  soon  nonplussed  by 
her  course. 

Thus  far  Van  Berg's  name  had  not  been  associated  with 
hers  in  any  such  manner  as  Stanton's.  His  cooler  head,  or 
heart,  more  correctly,  had  enabled  him  to  act  very  prudently. 
He  would  enjoy  a  walk  or  conversation  with  her,  and  there 
it  would  end.  Neither  by  lingering  glances  nor  steps  did 
he  show  that  he  could  not  interest  himself  in  other  people 
and  things.  He  did  not  attend  the  excursions  or  rides  to 
which  Stanton  invited  her,  and  others  to  please  her,  be- 
cause he  knew  his  friend  " doted  on  his  absence."  He  felt, 
too,  that  the  occasion  was  Stanton's  private  property,  and 
that  it  would  be  mean  not  to  leave  him  the  full  advantage 
of  the  device,  which  might  cause  him  more  effort  in  a  fore- 
noon or  an  evening  than  he  had  been  accustomed  to  put 
torth  in  a  week. 

But  poor  Stanton  soon  learned  that  his  labors  of  love 
were  destined  to  be  very  promiscuous.  He  never  could 
manage  to  carry  her  off  alone  in  a  light  skiff  upon  the  lake; 
he  could  never  inveigle  her  into  the  narrow  seat  of  his 
buggy,  nor  could  his  most  wily  strategy  long  separate  her 
from  their  companions  on  a  picnic  that  had  offered  to  his 
ardent  fancy  a  chance  for  a  stroll  into  some  favoring  soli- 
tude by  themselves.  Had  she  been  a  princess  of  the  blood, 
surrounded  by  a  guard  of  watchful  duennas,  she  could  not 
have  been  more  unapproachable  to  lover- like  advances. 
Yet,  with  a  vexation  akin  to  that  of  old  Tantalus  himself, 
he  constantly  cursed  his  stupidity  for  not  making  better 
progress  toward  securing  the  smiling,  affable  maiden,  who 


178  A    FACE   /LLUMINED 

by  every  law  of  his  past  experience  ought  to  second  his 
efforts  to  win  her. 

Van  Berg,  who  remained  at  the  hotel,  or  went  off  by  him- 
self on  rambles  and  sketching  expeditions,  would  watch  his 
opportunity  and  quietly  and  naturally  join  her  on  the  piazza 
or  in  the  parlor,  as  he  might  approach  any  other  lady.  As 
a  result  they  had  long  animated  conversations,  and  found 
they  had  much  in  common  to  talk  about. 

Stanton  would  gnaw  his  lip  with  envy  at  these  interviews 
and  wonder  how  Van  Berg  brought  them  about  so  easily, 
but  found  he  could  not  secure  them,  save  in  the  immediate 
presence  of  others.  Thus  it  came  about  that  Van  Berg 
practically  enjoyed  more  of  Miss  Burton's  society  than  the 
one  who  made  such  untiring  efforts  to  obtain  it. 

In  Stanton's  too  eager  suit,  Van  Berg  thought  he  saw 
the  danger  he  must  avoid,  and  he  complacently  congratu- 
lated himself  that  he  possessed  a  temperament  which  per- 
mitted thoughtful  and  wary  approaches.  He  would  not 
frighten  this  shy  bird  by  too  hasty  advances.  Through 
unobtrusive  companionship  he  would  first  grow  familiar  to 
her  thoughts;  and  then,  if  possible,  would  make  himself  in- 
separable from  them. 

He  reached  this  conclusion  during  a  ramble  on  Saturday 
morning,  and  with  elastic  tread  returned  to  the  hotel  to  carry 
out  his  well-digested  policy.  As  he  mounted  the  steps  he 
saw  Miss  Burton  in  the  parlor,  and  at  once  entered  through 
an  open  window.  She  was  seated  in  a  corner  of  the  room 
with  two  or  three  little  girls  around  her,  and  was  dressing 

dolls. 

"Do  you  enjoy  that?"  he  asked  incredulously. 

"I'm  not  a  star,"  she  replied,  looking  up  with  a  quiet 
smile,  "but  only  a  planet— one  of  the  smaller  asteroids— 
and  shine  with  borrowed  light.  These  little  women  enjoy 
this  hugely;  and  I  receive  a  pale  reflection  of  their 
pleasure. ' ' 

"You  are  certainly  happy  in  your  answer,  if  not  in  your 

work, ' '  he  remarked. 


A    DELIBERATE    WOOER  179 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,"  said  one  of  the  children  emphatically, 
"Miss  Burton  is  the  best  lady  that  ever  lived." 

"I  agree  with  you,  my  dear,"  responded  the  artist,  with 
answering  emphasis. 

"Yes,  children,"  said  Miss  Burton,  her  eyes  dancing 
with  mischief,  "and  I  want  you  to  appreciate  Mr.  Van 
Berg's  genius  too.  He  is  the  greatest  artist  that  ever  lived, 
and  there  never  were  such  pictures  as  he  paints." 

"Miss  Burton,  I  beg  off,"  interrupted  Van  Berg,  laugh- 
ing. "You  always  get  the  better  of  one.  No,  children,"  he 
continued  in  answer  to  their  looks  of  wonder,  "I  know  less 
about  painting  pictures,  in  comparison,  than  you  do  of  dress- 
ing dolls." 

"But  Miss  Burton  always  tells  us  the  truth,"  persisted 
the  child. 

"Now  you  see  the  result  of  our  folly,"  said  the  young 
lady,  shaking  her  head  at  him.  "We  have  given  this  child 
an  example  of  insincerity.  We  were  jesting,  my  dear.  Mr. 
Van  Berg  and  I  did  not  mean  what  we  said." 

1  k  But  I  did  mean  what  I  said, ' '  replied  the  child,  earnestly. 

"Since  only  downright  honesty,"  the  artist  resumed  with 
a  laugh,  "is  permitted  in  this  little  group,  so  near  nature's 
heart,  I  think  I  must  follow  this  small  maiden's  example, 
and  stick  to  my  original  statement.  For  once,  Miss  Burton, 
we  have  won  the  advantage  over  you,  and  have  proved  that 
yours  are  the  only  insincere  words  that  have  been  spoken. 
But  I  know  that  if  I  stay  another  moment  I  shall  be  worsted. 
So  I  shall  leave  the  field  before  victory  is  exchanged  for  an- 
other reverse. ' ' 

As  he  turned  laughingly  away  he  saw — what  he  had  not 
observed  before — that  Ida  Mayhew  was  sitting  near.  She 
was  ostensibly  reading;  but  even  his  brief  glance  assured 
him  that  her  downcast  eyes  were  not  following  the  lines. 
Her  face  was  so  pale,  so  rigid,  so  like  a  sculptured  ideal 
of  some  kind  of  suffering  he  could  not  understand,  that  it 
haunted  him. 

He  had  given  but  little  thought  to  her  for  the  past  two 


180  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

days,  and  indeed  had  rarely  seen  her.  She  had  managed  to 
take  her  meals  when  he  was  not  present,  and  on  one  or  two 
occasions  had  had  them  sent  to  her  room,  pleading  illness 
as  the  reason.  Indeed  her  flagging  appetite  and  altered  ap- 
pearance did  not  make  much  feigning  on  her  part  necessary. 

She  had  evidently  heard  the  conversation  just  narrated; 
and  she  believed  that  Van  Berg  had  echoed  the  child's  be- 
lief in  regard  to  Miss  Burton  more  in  truth  than  in  jest. 

The  ruling  passion  of  the  artist  was  aroused.  A  plain 
woman  might  have  looked  unutterable  things,  and  he  would 
have  passed  on  with  a  shrug,  or  but  a  thought  of  commisera- 
tion. But  that  oval,  downcast  face  followed  him.  Its  sad- 
ness and  pain  interested  him  because  conveyed  to  his  eye 
by  a  perfect  contour. 

"Was  it  a  trick?"  he  thought,  "or  a  fortuitous  combi- 
nation of  the  features  themselves,  that  enabled  them  to  ex- 
press so  much!  It  must  be  so,  for  surely  the  shallow  co- 
quette had  not  much  to  express." 

"A  plague  on  the  perversity  of  nature,"  he  exclaimed, 
"to  give  the  girl  such  features.  If  Jennie  Burton  had  them, 
she  would  be  the  ideal  woman  of  the  world." 

The  practical  result,  however,  was  that  he  half  forgot 
during  dinner  that  she  was  "the  best  woman  that  ever 
lived"  in  his  furtive  effort  to  study  Ida's  face  in  its  pres- 
ent aspect;  and  that  he  also  spent  most  of  the  afternoon  in 
his  room  sketching  it  from  memory.  • 


A    VAIN    WISH  181 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A   VAIN    WISH 

AS  the  witch-hazel  is  believed  to  have  the  power  of  in- 
dicating  springs  of  water  however  far  beneath  the 
surface,  so  Miss  Burton,  by  a  subtle  affinity,  seemed 
to  become  speedily  conscious  of  the  sorrows  and  troubles  of 
others,  even  when  sedulously  hidden  from  general  observa- 

tion.  T,       . 

She  discovered  that  something  was  amiss  with  Ida  al- 
most as  soon  as  did  the  troubled  girl  herself;  but  for  once 
her  quick  perception  of  causes  failed  her.  She  had  ex- 
plained Ida's  apparent  antipathy  to  Van  Berg  on  the 
around  of  the  natural  resentment  of  a  frivolous  society 
girl  toward  the  man  who  had,  by  his  manner  and  character, 
asked  her  to  think  and  be  a  woman.  It  appeared  to  her, 
from  her  limited  acquaintance,  that  Ida  was  developing 
into  the  counterpart  of  her  mother;  and  for  such  a  person 
as  Mrs.  Mayhew,  Van  Berg  could  never  have  anything  more 
than  polite  toleration. 

Miss  Burton  was  aware  that  the  artist's  manner  toward 
Ida  had  indeed  been  humiliating.  During  the  previous  week 
he  had  sought  her  society;  but  in  the  emphatic  language  of 
his  action,  he  had  almost  the  same  as  said  of  late: 

-Even  for  the  sake  of  your  beauty  I  cannot  endure  your 
shallowness  and  moral  deformity." 

Little  wonder  that  the  nattered  belle  should  feel  hate  or 
at  least  spite  toward  the  man  who  had  virtually  given  her 
such  a  stinging  rebuke. 

But  while  this  fact  and  the  differences  of  character  ex- 


182  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

plained  Ida's  manner  toward  the  artist,  it  did  not  account 
for  the  expression  of  pain  and  perplexity  that  she  occasion- 
ally detected  in  the  young  girl's  face.  It  did  not  explain 
why  she  should  sit  for  an  hour  at  a  time,  as  she  had  that 
morning  in  the  parlor,  her  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  and  her 
face  full  of  dread  and  trouble,  as  if  there  were  something 
present  to  her  mind  from  which  she  shrank  inexpressibly. 
She  tried  several  times  to  make  advances  toward  the  un- 
happy girl,  but  was  in  every  instance  repelled,  coldly  and 
decidedly. 

"What  is  preying  upon  Miss  Mayhew's  mind?"  she 
queried  with  increasing  frequency.  Her  experience  as  a 
teacher  of  young  girls  made  her  quick  to  detect  the  pres- 
ence of  those  dangerous  thoughts  which  beset  the  entrance 
on  mature  womanhood.  With  a  frown  that  formed  a  marked 
contrast  with  her  customary  gentle  and  genial  expression, 
she  surmised:  "Can  Sibley,  or  any  one  else,  be  seeking  to 
tempt  and  lead  her  astray?" 

As  the  most  plausible  explanation  she  finally  concluded 
that  Ida  was  brooding  over  her  father's  unhappy  tendencies. 
Mrs.  Burleigh  had  told  Miss  Burton  the  whole  story;  and 
she  had  listened,  not  as  to  a  bit  of  scandal,  but  as  to  another 
instance  of  that  kind  of  trouble  which  ever  evoked  from  her 
more  of  sympathy  than  censure. 

Ida  might  treat  her  fancied  rival,  therefore,  as  coldly  as 
she  chose,  but  the  fact  of  suffering  and  the  shadow  resting 
upon  her  from  her  father's  course  would  bind  Jennie  Bur- 
ton to  her  as  a  watchful  friend  with  a  tie  that  only  returning 
happiness  could  sunder. 

Stanton  and  Yan  Berg  were  standing  together  on  Satur- 
day evening,  when  Mrs.  Mayhew  and  her  daughter  came 
down  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  stage.  Ida  did  not  see 
them  at  first,  and  Van  Berg  was  again  struck  by  the  pallor 
and  stony  apathy  of  her  face.  She  looked  like  one  wearied 
by  conflict  of  mind;  but  the  quiet  of  her  face  was  not  that 
of  peace  or  decision.  It  was  simply  the  vacancy  and  lan- 
guor of  one  worn  out  with  contending  emotions. 


A    VAIN    WISH  183 

"I  once  said,"  thought  Van  Berg,  "that  she  would  be 
beautiful  if  she  were  dead,  and  her  frivolous  mind  could  no 
longer  mar  the  repose  of  her  features  with  the  suggestion  of 
petty  thoughts  and  ignoble  vices.  By  Jove,  I  never  real- 
ized how  true  my  words  were.  As  her  motionless  figure 
and  pallid  expression  appear  in  yonder  doorway,  she  would 
make  a  good  picture  of  the  clay  of  Eve,  before  God  breathed 
life  into  the  perfect  form.  Oh!  that  I  had  such  power!  I 
would  give  years  to  light  up  that  face  there  with  the  expres- 
sions of  which  it  is  capable." 

Then  Ida  saw  him,  and  she  turned  hastily  away,  but  not 
before  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  blood  mounting  swiftly  to 
her  face.  She  was  beginning  to  puzzle  him,  and  to  suggest 
that  possibly  his  estimate  of  her  character  had  been  super- 
ficial. 

"  Your  cousin  has  not  seemed  well  for  the  past  few  days," 
he  remarked  to  Stanton. 

"Oh!  Ida  is  as  full  of  moods  as  an  April  day,  only  they 
scarcely  have  a  vernal  simplicity,"  was  the  satirical  answer. 
"From  some  caprice  or  other  she  is  affecting  the  pale  and  in- 
teresting style  now.  See!  she  has  dressed  herself  this  even- 
ing with  severe  simplicity;  but  the  minx  knows  that  thin 
white  drapery  is  more  becoming  to  her  marble  cheeks  and 
neck  than  the  richest  colors.  Besides,  she  remembers  that 
it  is  a  sultry  evening,  and  so  gets  herself  up  as  cool  as  a 
cucumber.  By  all  the  jolly  gods!  but  she  is  statuesque, 
isn't  she?  Say  what  you  please,  Van,  the  best  of  you  ar- 
tists couldn't  imagine  a  much  fairer  semblance  of  a  woman 
than  you  see  yonder— but  when  you  come  to  her  mental  and 
moral  furniture— the  Good  Lord  deliver  us!" 

"  lTis  pity,  'tis  pity,"  said  Van  Berg,  in  a  low,  regretful 
tone. 

"An'  pity  'tis,  'tis  true,"  added  Stanton,  with  a  shrug. 

"I  can't  think  it  is  only  affectation  that  has  made  her  ap- 
pear ill  the  last  two  or  three  days,"  resumed  Van  Berg, 
musingly.  "Her  face  suggests  trouble  and  suffering  of 
some  kind." 


184  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"Touch  of  dyspepsia,  like  enough.  However,  Sibley 
will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes  and  he  will  cheer  her  up, 
never  fear.  I'm  disgusted  with  her  that  she  takes  so  to 
that  fellow;  for  although  no  saint  myself,  I  can't  stomach 
him." 

At  the  mention  of  Sibley's  name,  Van  Berg  frowned, 
turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away. 

"If  Stanton  is  right  about  that  fellow's  power  over  her," 
he  muttered,  "I'll  tear  up  the  sketch  I  made  this  afternoon 
and  never  give  her  another  thought." 

The  moment  Ida  became  conscious  of  Van  Berg's  obser- 
vant eyes  her  languor  passed  away.  She  had  scarcely  glanced 
at  him  while  at  dinner,  but  she  had  felt,  by  some  subtle  power 
of  perception,  that  he  was  furtively  watching  her,  and  she  also 
felt  there  was  more  of  curiosity  than  kindliness  in  his  regard. 
With  an  instinct  as  strong  as  that  of  self-preservation,  she 
sought  to  hide  her  secret,  and  when  a  few  moments  later  the 
stage  was  driven  to  the  door,  she  was  prepared  to  welcome 
the  man  she  now  detested,  in  order  to  conceal  her  heart  from 
the  man  she  loved. 

Van  Berg,  leaning  against  a  pillar  near,  saw  Mr.  May- 
hew  with  his  sallow,  listless  face  and  lifeless  tread  mount 
the  steps  to  greet  his  wife  and  daughter;  but,  before  he 
could  take  Ida's  hand,  Sibley,  in  snowy  linen  and  a  coat 
from  which  the  stains  and  dust  of  earth  seemed  ever  kept 
miraculously,  brushed  past  him,  and  seizing  the  daughter's 
hand,  exclaimed: 

"You  see  I've  kept  my  promise,  and  am  here."  And 
then  he  whispered  in  her  ear:  liBy  Jupiter,  Miss  Ida,  you 
look  like  a  houri  just  from  Paradise  to-night." 

Mr.  Mayhew  paused  a  moment  and  looked  from  the  for- 
ward youth  to  his  daughter's  scarlet  face,  frowned  heavily, 
and  then  gave  her  and  her  mother  a  very  cool  greeting  be- 
fore passing  on  to  his  room. 

Ida  could  not  forbear  stealing  a  look  at  Van  Berg,  and 
her  face  grew  pale  again  as  she  encountered  his  scornful 
glance.     Pride  was  one  of  her  predominant  traits,  and  his 


A    VAIN    WISH  185 

manner  touched  it  to  the  quick.  She  resolved  to  return 
him  scorn  for  scorn,  and  to  show  him  that  in  spite  of  her 
heart  that  had  turned  against  her  and  become  his  ally,  she 
could  still  be  her  old  gay  self.  Therefore  she  gave  Sibley 
back  his  badinage  in  kind;  and  in  repartee  that  was  bright 
and  sharp  as  well  as  reckless,  she  answered  the  compliments 
of  other  gay  young  fellows  who  also  gathered  around  her. 

"Did  I  not  tell  you  Sibley  would  revive  her?"  Stanton 
remarked  as  they  went  down  to  supper.  "Such  humdrum 
fellows  as  you  and  I  are  not  to  the  taste  of  one  who  has  been 
brought  up  on  a  diet  of  cayenne  pepper  and  chocolate  cream. " 

"But  what  kind  of  blood  does  such  a  diet  make?" 

"Judge  for  yourself.  It  looks  well  as  it  comes  and  goes 
in  a  pretty  face." 

"Look  here,  Stanton,"  said  Van  Berg,  pausing  at  the 
dining-room  door;  "there  is  that  Sibley  at  our  table." 

"Oh,  certainly!  He  claims  to  be  Ida's  friend,  and  you 
see  that  Mrs.  Mayhew  is  very  gracious  to  him.  He's  rich, 
and  will  inherit  his  father's  business  also;  and  my  sagacious 
aunt  inquires  no  further." 

"Stanton,  we  both  feel  that  he  is  not  fit  to  sit  at  the  same 
table  with  Miss  Burton." 

"You  are  right,  Van,"  Stanton  replied  with  a  deep  flush; 
"but  I  can  do  nothing  without  drawing  attention  to  my  rela- 
tives. After  all,  it  is  only  a  casual  and  transient  association 
in  a  public  place,  over  which  we  have  no  control.  While  she 
seems  too  near  to  him  there,  you  know  that  heaven  is  as 
near  to  hell  as  they  are  to  each  other.  For  the  sake  of  poor 
Mr.  Mayhew,  if  for  no  one  else,  let  the  matter  pass." 

"Very  well,  Stanton;  but  it  must  not  happen  so  another 
week;"  and  then  the  young  men  who  had  withdrawn  into 
the  hallway  entered,  but  the  expression  of  coldness  and  dis- 
pleasure did  not  wholly  pass  from  their  faces. 


IS6  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTEK  XXIII 

JENNIE   BURTON'S   "REMEDIES1' 

FORTUNATELY  Mr.  Mayhew  had  been  placed  at  the 
supper-table  next  to  Miss  Burton,  and  Van  Berg 
speedily  became  absorbed  in  watching  the  impres- 
sion made  on  each  other  by  these  two  characters  that  were 
so  utterly  diverse.  It  needed  but  a  glance  to  see  that  Mr. 
Mayhew  was  a  heavy-hearted,  broken- spirited  man.  His 
shrunken,  inanimate  features,  and  slight.,  bent  form,  looked 
all  the  more  dim  and  shadowy  in  contrast  with  his  stout, 
florid  wife,  who  even  in  public  scarcely  more  than  tolerated 
his  presence.  This  evening  she  devoted  herself  to  Sibley, 
who  sat  between  her  and  her  daughter. 

Mr.  Mayhew  seemed  unusually  depressed  even  for  him, 
and  began  to  make  a  supper  only  in  form.  Jennie  Burton 
stole  a  few  shy  glances  at  his  sallow  face,  and  seemed  to 
find  an  attraction  in  it  she  could  not  resist.  Two  handsome 
lovers  sat  near  her,  but  she  evidently  forgot  them  wholly 
save  when  they  addressed  her;  and  she  wooed  the  elderly 
man  at  her  side  with  consummate  tact  and  grace. 

At  first  he  was  unconscious  of  her  presence.  She  was 
but  another  human  atom,  and  of  no  more  interest  to  him 
than  the  chair  on  which  she  sat.  Mechanically  he  declined 
one  or  two  things  she  passed  to  him,  and  in  an  absent 
manner  replied  to  the  few  casual  remarks  by  which  she 
sought  to  engage  him  in  conversation.  At  last  she  said, 
in  a  voice  that  was  indescribably  winning  and  sympathetic: 

i4Mr.  Mayhew,  your  sultry  week  in  town  has  wearied 
you.     Our  country  air  will  do  you  good.7' 

There  was  so  much  more  in  her  tones  than  in  her  words 


JENNIE    BURTON'S    "REMEDIES"  187 

that  he  turned  to  look  at  her,  and  then,  for  the  first  time, 
became  aware  that  he  was  not  sitting  at  the  side  of  an  ordi- 
nary, well-bred  lady. 

"Country  air  is  good  as  far  as  it  goes,"  he  said  slowly, 
scanning  her  face  as  he  spoke;  "but  it  does  not  make  much 
difference  with  me." 

"There  are  o^her  remedies,"  she  resumed  in  her  low 
gentle  tone,  "which,  like  the  air,  are  not  exactly  tangible, 
and  yet  are  more  potent." 

"Indeed,"  he  said,  the  dawning  interest  deepening  in 
his  face;  "what  are  they?" 

"I  do  not  mean  to  tell  you,"  she  replied  with  a  little 
piquant  nod  and  smile.  "I've  learned  better  than  those 
people  who  have  a  dozen  infallible  medicines  at  their 
tongues'  end  for  every  trouble  under  heaven.  I  never  name 
my  remedies;  for  if  I  did,  people  would  turn  away  in  con- 
tempt for  such  commonplace  simples." 

"I  can  guess  one  of  them  already,"  he  said  with  a  pleased 
light  coming  into  his  eyes. 

"So  quickly,  Mr.  May  hew  ?     I  doubt  it." 

"Kindness,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Well,"  she  replied,  with  a  slight  flush,  "I  can  stoutly 
assert  that  this  remedy  did  me  good  when  all  the  long-named 
drugs  in  the  'materia  medico1  could  not  have  helped  me." 

He  looked  at  her  searchingly  a  moment,  and  then  said 
in  the  same  low  tone: 

"And  so  you  are  trying  to  apply  your  remedy  to  me? 
It  certainly  is  very  good  of  you.  Most  people  when  they 
are  cured,  throw  away  the  medicine,  forgetting  how  many 
others  are  sick." 

"Perhaps  we  can  never  exactly  say  we  are  cured  in  this 
life;  but  I  think  we  can  all  get  better." 

" It  depends  a  great  deal  upon  the  disease, "  he  replied, 
witb  a  shrug. 

"No,  Mr.  Mayhew,"  she  said;  and,  although  her  tone 
was  l^w,  it  was  almost  passionate  in  its  earnestness.  "God 
forbid  that  there  should  be  a  disease  without  a  remedy." 


188  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

He  again  looked  at  her  with  a  peculiar  expression,  and 
then  turned  slowly  toward  his  wife  and  daughter.  Mrs. 
Mayhew  was  too  preoccupied  to  heed  him,  and  Sibley  was 
just  saying: 

"Miss  Ida,  I  claim  you  for  the  first  waltz  this  evening, 
and  only  wish  that  it  would  last  indefinitely." 

"Pardon  me  for  saying  it  to  one  so  young  and  hopeful 
as  yourself,  Miss  Burton,"  Mr.  Mayhew  resumed  gloomily, 
"but  that  which  both  God  and  good-sense  forbid  seems  the 
thing  most  sure  to  take  place  in  this  world." 

Although  so  dissimilar,  deep  and  sad  experiences  made 
them  kin,  and  Miss  Burton  found  she  must  make  an  effort 
not  to  let  their  thoughts  color  their  words  too  darkly  for 
the  time  and  place. 

"I  shall  not  let  you  destroy  my  faith  in  my  old-fashioned 
simples,"  she  said  in  tones  that  were  lighter  than  her  mean- 
ing. "You  must  not  be  sure  that  because  you  are  so  much 
my  senior,  all  my  complaints  have  been  merely  children's 
troubles.     Appearances  are  often  misleading,  you  know." 

"Not  in  your  case,  I  think,  Miss  Burton.  I  have  lost 
faith  in  almost  everything,  and  most  of  all  in  myself;  but 
this  unexpected  little  talk  has  touched  me  deeper  than 
you  can  know,  and  I  cannot  help  having  faith  in  you. " 

"I  will  believe  it,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  "if  you  will 
give  me  a  little  of  your  society  before  you  go  back  to 
the  city." 

He  looked  at  her  with  sudden  suspicion.  "Do  you  mean 
what  you  say?" 

"I  do." 

"Why  do  you  wish  my  society  ?" 

She  hesitated. 

His  face  darkened  still  more,  for  he  remembered  what 
he  was,  and  how  little  this  young  and  lovely  girl  had  in 
common  with  him. 

"Answer  me  truly,"  he  insisted;  "why  should  you  wish 
my  society?  I've  not  a  particle  of  vanity.  I  know  what 
I  am,  and  you  undoubtedly   know  also.     If  you  wish  to 


JENNIE    BURTON'S    "REMEDIES"  189 

advise  me  and  preach  at  me,  let  me  tell  you  plainly  but 
courteously  that  your  efforts,  however  well  intentioned, 
would  be  in  vain,  and  not  altogether  welcome.  I  can  con- 
ceive of  no  other  reason  why  you  should  wish  for  my 
society." 

Her  face  became  very  pale,  but  she  looked  him  full  in 
his  eyes  as  she  replied: 

4kI  do  not  wish  to  preach  or  advise  at  all.  Can  you  not 
understand  that  one  may  ease  one's  own  pain  by  trying  to 
relieve  the  suffering  of  another  ?  Now  you  see  how  selfish 
lam." 

His  face  softened  instantly,  and  he  said: 

44  Miss  Burton,  that  is  too  divine  a  philosophy  for  me  to 
grasp  at  once.  As  the  world  goes  now,  I  think  you  are 
founding  a  school  of  your  own.  You  will  find  me  an  eager 
listener,  if  not  an  apt  scholar,  whenever  you  will  honor  me 
with  your  company."  And  smiling  his  thanks  he  rose  and 
left  the  table. 

This  conversation  had  been  carried  on  in  tones  too  low 
and  quiet  to  be  heard  by  others  in  the  crowded  and  noisy 
dining-room.  Van  Berg,  who  sat  opposite,  had  taken  pains 
not  to  follow  it  and  to  appear  oblivious,  and  yet  he  could 
not  refrain  from  observing  its  general  drift  and  scope  in 
Mr.  Mayhew's  manner;  and  his  eyes  glowed  with  admira- 
tion for  her  winning  tact  and  kindness.  The  glance  he  bent 
upon  her  was  perhaps  more  ardent  and  approving  than  he 
was  aware,  for  she,  looking  up  from  the  abstraction  which 
the  recent  conversation  had  occasioned,  seemed  strangely 
affected  by  it,  for  she  trembled  and  her  face  blanched  with 
a  sudden  pallor,  while  her  eyes  were  riveted  to  his  face. 

"You  are  not  well,  Miss  Burton,"  said  Stanton  hastily, 
but  in  a  low  tone.     "Let  me  get  you  some  wine." 

She  started  perceptibly,  and  then  a  sudden  crimson  suf- 
fused her  face  as  she  became  conscious  that  other  eyes  were 
upon  her. 

In  almost  a  second  she  recovered  herself  fully,  and  re- 
plied, with  a  smile: 


190  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

"No,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Stanton.  A  cup  of  tea  is  a  pan- 
acea for  all  a  woman's  troubles,  and  you  see  I  have  it  here. 
I  did  not  feel  well  for  a  moment,  but  am  better  now." 

The  eyes  of  Stanton  and  Ida  met.  Both  had  seen  this 
little  episode,  and  each  drew  from  it  conclusions  that  were 
anything  but  inspiriting.  But  Van  Berg  was  thoroughly 
puzzled.  While  as  he  felt  then  he  would  have  gladly  drawn 
encouragement  from  it,  and  perhaps  did  so  to  some  extent, 
he  still  felt  there  was  something  peculiar  in  her  manner, 
of  which  he  seemed  the  occasion,  but  was  not  the  adequate 
cause. 

Miss  Burton  soon  after  sought  her  room,  and  for  a  few 
moments  paced  it  in  deep  disquiet,  and  her  whole  form 
seemed  to  become  tense  and  rigid.  In  low  tones  she  com- 
muned with  herself: 

"Is  my  will  so  weak?  Shall  I  continue  betraying  my- 
self at  any  unexpected  moment  ?  Shall  I  show  to  strangers 
something  that  I  would  hide  from  all  eyes  save  those  of 
God?  Let  me  realize  it  at  once,  and  so  maintain  self-control 
henceforth.  This  is  an  illusion— a  mere  trick  of  my  over- 
wrought  mind;  and  yet  it  seemed  so  like — " 

A  passion  of  grief  interrupted  further  words.  Such 
bitter,  uncontrollable  sorrow  in  one  so  young  was  terrible. 
She  writhed  and  struggled  with  this  anguish  for  a  time  as 
helplessly  as  if  she  were  in  the  grasp  of  a  giant. 

At  last  she  grew  calm.  There  were  no  tears  in  her  eyes. 
She  was  beyond  such  simple  and  natural  expression  of  sor- 
row. She  had  ready  tears  for  the  troubles  of  others,  but 
now  her  eyes  were  dry  and  feverish. 

"O  God,"  she  gasped,  "teach  me  patience!  Keep  me 
submissive.  Let  me  still  say,  4Thy  will  be  done.'  And  yet 
the  time  is  drawing  near  when— oh,  hush!  hush!  Let  me 
not  think  of  it — " 

"There,  there,  be  still,"  she  said  more  quietly  with  her 
hand  upon  her  side.  "Hundreds  of  other  hearts  besides 
your  own  are  aching.     Forget  yourself  in  relieving  them." 

She  bathed  her  face,  put  some  brighter  flowers  in  her 


JENNIE    BURTON'S    "REMEDIES"  191 

hair,  and  went  down  among  the  other  guests,  seemingly  the 
very  embodiment  of  sunshine.  All  eyes  save  those  of  Ida 
Mayhew  welcomed  her;  the  children  gathered  round  her; 
Stanton  and  Van  Berg  were  both  eager  for  her  society  in 
the  dance,  or,  better  still,  for  a  promenade;  but  she  saw  Mr. 
Mayhew  looking  wistfully  at  her,  and  she  went  straight 
to  him. 

With  unerring  tact  she  found  out  the  subjects  that  were 
interesting  to  him,  and  reviving  his  faith  in  his  own  intelli- 
gence, led  his  mind  through  sunny,  breezy  ranges  of  thought 
that  made  the  time  he  spent  with  her  like  an  escape  from 
the  narrow  walls  and  stifling  air  and  gloom  of  a  prison. 


192  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

A   HATEFUL,    WRETCHED   LIFE 

THE  advent  of  half  a  score  of  young  men  from  the  city 
naturally  made  dancing  the  order  of  the  occasion 
on  Saturday  evening.  Mr.  Burleigh,  however,  gave 
Sibley  a  hint  that  the  features  he  had  introduced  the  pre- 
vious week  must  be  omitted  to-night,  since  nothing  that 
would  in  the  slightest  degree  lower  the  character  of  his 
house  would  be  tolerated.  The  excitement  therefore  that 
Sibley  had  formerly  received  from  cognac,  he  now  sought 
to  obtain  by  pursuing  with  greater  ardor  his  flirtation  with 
Ida.  Indeed,  to  such  a  nature  as  his,  her  beauty  was  quite 
as  intoxicating  as  the  "spirit  of  wine."  There  was  a  bril- 
liancy in  her  appearance  to-night  and  a  piquancy  in  her 
words  that  struck  him  as  very  unusual. 

Nor  was  he  alone  in  his  admiration.  The  young  men 
from  the  city  thronged  about  her,  and  her  hand  was  soon 
engaged  for  every  dance  until  late  in  the  evening;  but  on 
this  occasion  she  had  no  opportunity,  as  before,  of  declining 
invitations  from  Van  Berg.  The  solicitations  of  others  went 
for  little,  the  admiring  eyes  that  she  saw  following  her  on 
every  side  could  not  compensate  for  the  lack  of  all  attention 
from  him.  He  danced  several  times,  but  it  was  with  those 
who  seemed  to  be  neglected  by  others.  In  his  quiet,  digni- 
fied bearing,  in  his  unselfish  affability  toward  those  who 
otherwise  would  have  had  a  dull  evening,  he  appeared  to 
her  in  most  favorable  contrast  to  the  giddy  young  fellows 


A    HATEFUL,    WRETCHED    LIFE  193 

who  fluttered  around  her,  and  whose  supreme  thoughts  were 
always  of  themselves,  and  of  her  only  as  she  could  minister 
to  their  pleasure. 

"Miss  Burton  has  so  plainly  won  him,"  she  thought, 
"that  he  has  adopted  her  tactics  of  looking  after  those 
whom  every  one  neglects.  I  could  soon  show  him  the 
one  he  has  the  greatest  power  of  cheering,  and  I  know 
that  she  has  the  deepest  need  of  cheer  of  any  one  in  this 
crowded  house,  but  I'd  rather  die  than  give  one  hint  of  my 
perverse  heart's  folly.  From  the  hour  of  our  first  meeting 
he  has  humiliated  me,  and  I  in  return  love  him!  But  he 
shall  never  know  it.     My  looks  can  be  as  cold  as  his." 

And  so  they  were  toward  him,  but  for  all  others  she  had 
the  gayest  smiles  and  repartee.  Vividly  conscious  of  the 
secret  she  would  so  jealously  guard,  she  sought  by  every 
means  in  her  power  to  mask  it  from  him  and  all  others. 
She  would  even  permit  her  name  for  a  time  to  be  associated 
with  a  man  she  detested  and  despised,  since  thus  the  truth 
could  be  more  effectively  concealed. 

Sibley's  attentions  were  certainly  ardent  enough  to  at- 
tract attention,  and  occasionally  there  was  a  boldness  in  his 
compliments  which  she,  even  in  her  reckless  mood,  sharply 
resented.  His  eyes  seemed  to  grow  more  wolfish  every  time 
she  encountered  them,  and  more  than  once  the  thought 
crossed  her  mind* 

"What  a  heaven  it  would  be  to  look  up  into  the  eyes  of 
a  man  I  could  trust,  and  who  honored  me." 

What  torture  it  was  to  see  such  a  man  present,  and  yet 
to  feel  that  he  justly  scorned  her. 

Excitement  and  her  strong  will  kept  her  up  for  a  long 
time,  but  as  the  evening  advanced  despondency  and  weari- 
ness began  to  gain  the  mastery.  Sibley  came  to  her  and 
said:  "Miss  Ida,  I  have  your  hand  for  the  next  waltz,  but 
I  see  you  are  worn  and  tired.  Let  us  go  out  on  the  cool 
piazza  instead  of  dancing." 

Listlessly  she  took  his  arm  and  passed  through  one  of 
the  open  windows  near.     Van  Berg  had  disappeared  some 

9—ROE— xii 


194  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 

time  before,  and  there  was  no  longer  any  motive  to  keep 
up  the  illusion  of  gayety. 

Hardly  had  she  stepped  on  the  piazza  before  she  heard 
her  father  say: 

"Miss  Burton,  if  it  will  give  you  any  pleasure  to  know 
that  you  have  made  this  evening  memorably  bright  to  one 
whose  life  is  peculiarly  clouded,  you  can  certainly  enjoy 
that  assurance  in  the  fullest  measure.  You  have  kept  your 
word  and  have  not  preached  at  me  at  all;  and  yet  I  feel 
I  ought  to  be  a  better  man  for  this  interview." 

"Oh,  Miss  Ida,"  exclaimed  Sibley,  "this  is  the  opportu- 
nity that  I  have  been  wishing  for  all  the  evening.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  gladly  I  exchange  the  glare  of  that  room  for 
the  light  of  your  eyes  only.  Would  that  life  were  but  one 
long  summer  evening,  and  your  eyes  the  only  stars  in  my 
sky." 

"Absurd,"  she  carelessly  replied;  and  then  they  passed 
out  of  hearing. 

"Good-night,  Miss  Burton,"  said  Mr.  Mayhew  abruptly; 
and  he  hastily  descended  the  steps  and  was  soon  lost  from 
view  in  the  darkness. 

His  daughter  and  the  man  who  seemed  to  be  the  compan- 
ion of  her  choice  brought  back  at  once  the  old  conditions 
of  his  life.  The  prison  walls  closed  around  him  again,  the 
air  seemed  all  the  more  foul  and  stifling  in  contrast  with 
the  pure  atmosphere  which  he  had  been  breathing,  and  the 
gloom  of  the  night  was  light  in  comparison  with  his  thoughts 
as  he  muttered: 

"If  Ida  were  only  like  this  good  angel  she  might  save 
even  me;  but  after  my  long  absence  she  leaves  me  wholly 
to  myself  for  the  sake  of  a  man  who  ought  to  be  an  offence 
to  her.  If  I  tell  her  and  her  mother  what  his  reputation  in 
New  York  is  they  will  not  listen  to  me.  Although  he  is  the 
known  slave  of  every  vice,  my  daughter  smiles  upon  him. 
Froth  and  mud  we  are  now  and  ever  will  be.  After  a 
glimpse  into  the  life  of  that  pure,  good  woman  who  has 
tried  to  be  God's  messenger  to  me  to-night,  I  can  find  no 


A    HATEFUL,    WRETCHED    LIFE  195 

words  to  express  my  loathing  of  the  slough  in  which  I  and 
mine  have  mired.  My  only  child,  by  the  force  of  natural 
selection,  bids  fair  to  add  to  our  number  a  drunkard  and  a 
libertine;  and  I  am  powerless  to  prevent  it.  The  mother 
that  should  guard  and  guide  her  child  is  blind  to  every- 
thing save  that  he  is  rich.  Froth  and  mud!  Froth  and 
mud!" 

Unable  to  endure  his  thoughts,  he  went  to  his  room  and 
found  oblivion  in  the  stupor  of  intoxication. 

On  reaching  the  end  of  the  long  piazza,  Sibley  led  Ida 
to  a  veranda  little  frequented  at  that  hour,  saying,  as  he 
did  so: 

"Let  us  get  away  from  prying  eyes.  I  always  feel  when 
with  you  that  three  is  an, enormous  crowd." 

A  gentleman  who  had  been  smoking  rose  hastily  at  this 
broad  hint,  which  he  could  not  help  overhearing,  and  walked 
haughtily  away. 

Ida,  with  a  regret  deeper  than  she  could  have  thought 
possible,  saw  that  it  was  Van  Berg.  Her  first  impulse  was 
to  compel  her  companion  to  go  back;  but  that  would  look 
like  following  him.  Weary,  disheartened  by  the  fate  that 
seemed  ever  against  her,  she  sank  into  the  chair  he  had  just 
vacated. 

For  a  time  she  did  not  heed  or  scarcely  hear  Sibley's 
characteristic  flatteries,  but  at  last  he  said  plainly: 

"Miss  Ida,  do  you  know  that  you  are  the  one  woman  of 
all  the  world  to  me?" 

"Oh,  hush!"  she  replied,  rising.  "I  know  you  say  that 
to  every  pretty  woman  who  will  listen  to  you,  as  I  shall  no 
longer  to-night.     Come." 

Baffled  and  puzzled  also  by  the  moody  girl,  who  of  late 
seemed  so  different  from  her  former  self,  he  had  no  resource 
but  to  accompany  her  back  to  the  main  entrance.  Here, 
where  the  eyes  of  others  were  upon  her,  she  said  abruptly, 
but  with  a  charming  smile: 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Sibley,"  and  went  directly  to  her  room. 

The  young  man  looked  rather  nonplussed  and  muttered 


196  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

an  oath  as  he  walked  away  to  console  himself  after  the  fash- 
ion of  his  kind. 

"Is  there  to  be  no  escape  from  this  wretched  life?"  Ida 
sighed,  as  she  wearily  threw  herself  into  a  chair  on  reaching 
her  room.  4tA  man  whose  addresses  are  an  insult  is  my 
lover.  The  only  man  I  can  ever  love  associates  me  in  his 
mind  with  this  low  fellow.  My  father  obtains  what  little 
comfort  he  gets  from  the  charity  of  a  stranger.  How  can 
I  face  this  prospect  day  after  day.  Oh,  that  I  had  never 
come  here!" 

"Ida,"  said  her  mother  entering  hastily,  "what  has  hap- 
pened to  put  your  father  out  so  ?  I  had  a  headache  this 
evening,  and  came  up  early.  A  little  while  ago  he  stalked 
in  with  his  absurd  tragic  air.  'What  is  the  matter,'  I 
asked.  'Look  to  your  daughter,'  he  said.  'What  do  you 
mean?'  I  asked,  quite  frightened.  'If  you  were  a  true 
mother,'  he  replied,  'you  would  no  more  leave  her  with 
that  roue*  Sibley,  than  with  so  much  pitch.  Yet  he  is 
courting  her  openly;  and  what  is  worse,  she  receives  his 
addresses,  and  permits  herself  to  be  identified  with  him.' 
4 Oh,  pshaw,'  I  answered  carelessly;  'Sibley  is  about  on  a 
par  with  half  the  young  men  in  society,  and  Ida  might  do 
a  great  deal  worse.  No  fear  of  her;  for  there  isn't  a  girl 
living  who  knows  how  to  take  care  of  herself  better  than 
she.'  'Bah!'  he  said,  'if  she  knew  how  to  take  care  of  her- 
self, she  would  permit  a  snake  to  touch  her  sooner  than  that 
man.  Ida  might  do  worse,  might  she?  God  knows  how: 
I  don't.  A  pretty  family  we  shall  be  when  he  is  added  to 
our  charming  group.  The  mud  will  predominate  then;' 
and  with  that  he  opened  a  bottle  of  brandy  and  drank 
himself  stupid." 

As  Mrs.  Mayhew  rattled  this  conversation  off  in  a  loud 
whisper,  Ida  seemed  turning  into  stone,  but  at  its  close  she 
said  icily: 

"In  speaking  of  such  a  union  as  possible,  my  parents 
certainly  have  shown  their  opinion  of  me.  Good- night 
I  wish  to  be  alone." 


A    HATEFUL,    WRETCHED   LIFE  197 

"But  did  anything  happen  between  you  to  set  your 
father  off  so?"  persisted  Mrs.  May  hew. 

"Nothing  unusual.  I  suppose  father  heard  one  of  Mr. 
Sibley's  compliments;  and  that  was  enough  to  disgust  any 
sensible  man.     Good-  night. " 

"My  gracious!  You  might  as  well  turn  me  out  of  your 
room." 

"Mother,  I  wish  to  be  alone,"  said  Ida,  passionately. 

"A  pretty  life  I  lead  of  it  between  you  and  your  father," 
sobbed  Mrs.  Mayhew,  retreating  to  her  own  apartment. 

"A  hateful,  wretched  life  we  all  three  shall  lead  to  the 
end  of  time,  for  aught  that  I  can  see,**  Ida  groaned  as  she 
restlessly  paced  her  room;  "but  I  have  no  better  resource 
than  to  follow  father's  example." 

She  took  an  opiate,  and  so  escaped  from  thought  for  a 
time  in  the  deep  lethargy  it  brought 


198  A   FACE  IJJ.UMINED 


CHAPTER  XXV 

HALF-TRUTHS 

A  CHURCH  bell  was  ringing  in  a  neighboring  village 
the  following  morning  when  Ida  awoke.  The  sun- 
light streamed  in  at  the  open  window  through  the 
half-closed  blinds,  flecking  the  floor  with  bars  of  light. 
Birds  were  singing  in  the  trees  without,  and  a  southern 
breeze  rustled  through  the  foliage  as  a  sweet  low  accom- 
paniment. Surely  it  was  a  bright  pleasant  world  on  which 
her  heavy  eyes  were  opening. 

Poor  child  I  she  was  fast  learning  now  that  the  darkest 
clouds  that  shadow  our  paths  are  not  the  vapors  that  rise 
from  the  earth,  but  the  thoughts  and  memories  of  an  un- 
happy and  a  sinful  heart. 

The  sunlight  mocked  her;  and  her  spirit  was  so  out  of 

tune  that  the  sweet  sounds  of  nature  made  jarring  discord. 

But  the  church  bell  caught  her  attention.     How  natural 

and  almost  universal  is  the  instinct  which  leads  us  when  in 

trouble  to  seek  the  support  of  some  Higher  power.     No 

matter  how  wayward  the  human  child  may  have  been,  how 

hardened  by  years  of  wrong,  or   arrogantly  intrenched  in 

some  phase  of   rational  philosophy,   when  the  darkness  of 

danger   or   sorrow   blots   out   the    light   of   earthly  hopes, 

or  hides  the  path  which  was  trodden  so  confidently,  then, 

with  the  impulse  of  frightened  children  whom  night  has 

suddenly   overtaken,   there   is  a  longing   for  the  Father's 

hand  and  the  Father's   reassuring  voice.     If   there  is  no 

God  to  love  and  help  us,  human  nature  is  a  lie. 

Thus  far  Ida  Mayhew  had  no  more  thought  of  turning 


HALF-TRUTHS 


199 


Heavenward  for  help  than  to  the  philosopy  of  Plato.     In- 
deed  religion  as  a  system  of  truth,  and  Greek  philosophy 
were' almost  equally  unknown  to  her.     But  that  church  bell 
reminded  her  of  the  source  of  hope  and  help  to  which  bur- 
dened hearts  have  been  turning  in  all  the  ages,  and,  with  the 
vague  thought  that  she  might  find  some  light  and  cheer  that 
was  not  in  the  sunshine,  she  hastily  dressed  and  went  down 
in  time  to  catch  one  of  the  last  carriages.     When  she  reached 
the  church,  she  found  her  mother  had  preceded  her,  and  that 
her  cousin  Ik  Stanton  was  also  there;  but  she  correctly  sur- 
mised  that  the  only  devotion  to  which  he  was  inclined  had 
been  inspired  by  Miss  Burton,  who  sat  not  far  away.     She 
was  soon  satisfied  that  Van  Berg  was  not  present. 

As  a  general  thing,  when  at  church,  Ida  had  given  more 
consideration  to  the  people  and  the  toilets  about  her  than 
to  either  the  service  or  sermon;  bat  to-day  she  wistfully 
turned  her  thoughts  to  both,  in  the  hope  that  they  might  do 
her  good,  although  she  had  as  vague  an  idea  as  to  the  mode 
or  process  as  if  both  were  an  Indian  incantation. 

But  she  was  thoroughly  disappointed.  Her  thoughts 
wandered  continually  from  the  services.  With  almost  the 
vividness  of  bodily  presence,  three  faces  were  looking  upon 
her— her  father's  with  an  infinite  reproach;  Sibley's,  with 
smiling  lips  and  wolfish  eyes;  and  Van  Berg's,  first  coolly 
questioning  and  exploring  in  its  expression,  and  then  coldly 
averted  and  scornful  in  consequence  of  what  he  had  discov- 
ered.    Not  houses,  but  minds  are  haunted. 

The  clergyman,  however,  was  an  able,  forcible  speaker, 
and  held  her  attention  from  the  first.  His  sermon  was  topi- 
cal rather  than  textual  in  its  character;  that  is,  he  enlarged 
on  what  he  termed  "the  irreconcilable  enmity  between  God 
and  the  world,"  taking  as  his  texts  the  following  selections: 
11  The  carnal  mind  is  enmity  against  God." 
And  again,  tl Whosoever,  therefore,  will  be  a  friend  of 
the  world,  is  the  enemy  of  God." 

The  sermon  was  chiefly  an  argument;  and  the  point  of  it 
was  that  there  could  be  no  compromise  between  these  con- 


200  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

tending  powers — God  on  one  side,  the  world  on  the  other — 
and  he  insisted  that  his  hearers  must  be,  and  were,  with  one 
party  or  the  other.  The  trouble  was,  that  in  concentrating 
his  thoughts  on  the  single  point  he  meant  to  make,  he  took 
too  much  for  granted— namely,  that  all  his  hearers  under- 
stood sufficiently  the  character  of  God,  and  the  sense  in 
which  the  Bible  uses  the  term  "world,"  not  to  misappre- 
hend the  nature  of  this  "enmity."  To  seasoned  church- 
goers the  sermon  was  both  true  and  very  satisfactory. 

But  when  the  good  minister  reached  the  conclusion  of 
his  argument  in  the  words,  "So  then,  they  that  are  in  the 
flesh  cannot  please  God,"  poor  Ida  drew  a  long  dreary 
sigh,  and  wished  she  had  remained  at  home.  She  was  cer- 
tainly l'in  the  flesh,"  if  any  one  were;  and  in  addition  to 
the  fact  that  she  neither  pleased  herself  nor  any  one  else 
that  she  respected  and  loved,  she  was  now  given  the  assur- 
ance, apparently  fortified  by  Holy  Writ,  that  she  could  not 
"please  God."  The  simple  and  divine  diplomacy  by  which 
this  "enmity"  is  removed  was  unknown  to  her. 

She  turned  to  note  how  Miss  Burton  received  a  message 
that  was  so  unwelcome  to  herself,  and  saw  that  she  was  not 
listening.  There  was  a  dreamy,  far-away  look  in  her  eyes 
that  clearly  was  not  inspired  by  the  thought  of  "enmity." 

"She  is  probably  thinking  of  the  artist  and  the  ideal  fu- 
ture that  he  can  give  her.  How  foolish  it  is  in  poor  Ik 
there  to  try  to  rival  him!  It  was  an  unlucky  day  for  us 
both,  cousin  of  mine,  when  we  came  to  this  place!" 

More  disheartened  and  despondent  than  ever,  she  rode 
homeward  with  her  mother,  answering  questions  only  in 
monosyllables.  All  that  religion  had  said  to  her  that 
morning  was:  "Give  up  the  world— all  with  which  you 
have  hitherto  been  familiar,  and  have  enjoyed."  God  was 
an  infinite,  all-powerful,  remote  abstraction,  and  yet  for  His 
sake  she  must  resign  everything  which  would  enable  her  to 
forget,  or  at  least  disguise  the  pain  and  jealousy  which  were 
at  times  almost  unendurable;  and  she  knew  of  no  substitute 
with  which  to  replace  "the  world"  she  was  asked  to  forego. 


HALF-TRUTHS  201 


This  religion  of  mere  negation,  expulsion,  and  restraint 
is  too  often  presented  to  the  mind.  Dykes  and  levees  are 
very  useful,  and  in  some  places  essential;  but  if  low  malarial 
shores  could  be  lifted  up  into  breezy  hills  and  table- lands, 
this  would  be  better.  This  is  not  only  possible,  but  it  is 
the  true  method  in  respect  to  the  human  soul;  and  one 
should  seek  to  grow  better  not  by  sedulous  effort  to  keep 
out  an  evil  world,  but  rather  to  fill  up  his  heart  with  a  good 
pure  world  such  as  God  made  and  blessed. 

The  sermon  Ida  heard  that  morning,  therefore,  only 
added  to  the  burden  that  was  already  too  heavy  to  be  car- 
ried  much  longer 


202  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

SUNDAY   TABLE-TALK 

TO  the  relief  of  all  save  Mrs.  Mayhew,  Sibley  dined  with 
a  couple  of  young,  fast  men,  who  enforced  their  in- 
vitation by  the  irresistible  attraction  of  a  bottle  of 
wine. 

4 'There  is  too  much  starch  and  dignity  at  that  table  to 
suit  me,  anyway,"  he  remarked.  "There  are  those  two 
model  saints,  who  led  our  devotions  last  Sunday  evening, 
flirting  with  ponderous  gravity  with  that  deep  little  school- 
ma'am,  who  has  turned  both  their  heads,  but  can't  make  up 
her  mind  which  of  them  to  capture,  both  being  such  marvel- 
lously good  game  for  one  of  her  class.  Cute  Yankee  as  she 
believes  herself  to  be,  she's  a  fool  to  think  that  either  of 
them  is  more  than  playing  with  her.  By  Jupiter!  but  it 
would  be  sport  to  cut  'em  both  out;  and  I  could  do  it  if  I 
were  up  here  a  week.  Those  who  know  the  world  know 
that  such  women  cipher  out  these  matters  in  the  spirit  of 
New  England  thrift,  and  you  have  only  to  mislead  them 
with  sufficient  plausible  data  to  capture  them  body  and 
soul."  And  Sibley  complacently  sipped  his  wine  as  if  he 
had  stated  all  there  was  to  be  said  on  the  subject.  Few 
men  prided  themselves  more  on  a  profound  knowledge  of 
the  world  than  he. 

Ida's  despondency  while  at  dinner  was  so  great  she  could 
not  throw  it  off.  Listlessly  and  wearily  she  barely  tasted  of 
the  different  courses  as  they  were  passed  to  her.  She  con- 
sciously made  only  one  effort,  and  that  was  to  appear  ut- 
terly indifferent  to  Van  Berg;  and  both  circumstances  and 


SUNDAY    TABLE-TALK  203 

his  contemptuous  neglect  made  but  little  feigning  neces- 
sary. The  evening  before  had  associated  her  so  insepa- 
rably in  his  mind  with  Sibley  that  he  was  beginning  to  re- 
gard her  with  aversion. 

"Trivial  natures  are  disturbed  by  trivial  causes,"  he 
thought;  "and  she  looks  as  if  the  world  had  turned  black 
because  Sibley  has  been  lured  from  her  side  for  an  hour  by 
a  bottle  of  wine.     He'll  revive  her  again  before  supper." 

"How  wintry  that  old  gentleman  looks  who  is  just  enter- 
ing!" Stanton  remarked.  "It  makes  one  shiver  to  think  of 
becoming  as  frosty  and  white  as  he." 

"Oh,  don't  speak  of  being  old!"  cried  Mrs.  Mayhew. 
"Eemember  there  are  some  at  the  table  who  are  in  greater 
danger  of  that  final  misfortune  than  you  young  people." 

"Do  you  dread  being  old,  Miss  Burton  ?"  Yan  Berg  asked. 

"No;    but  I  do  the  process   of  growing  old." 

"For  once  we  think  alike,  Miss  Burton,"  said  Ida, 
abruptly.  "To  think  of  plodding  on  through  indefinite 
dreary  years  toward  the  miserable  conclusion  of  old  age! 
and  yet  it  is  said  nothing  is  so  sweet  as  life." 

"Really,  cousin,  your  advance  down  the  ages  reminds 
one  more  of  a  quickstep  than  of  'plodding,'  "  remarked 
Stanton. 

"The  step  matters  little,"  she  retorted,  "as  long  as  you 
feel  as  if  you  were  going  to  your  own  funeral.  I  agree  with 
Miss  Burton,  that  growing  old  is  worse  than  being  old, 
though  Heaven  knows  that  both  are  bad  enough." 

"I'm  not  sure  that  Heaven  would  agree  -with  either  of 
us,"  said  Miss  Burton,  gently. 

"I  fear  the  sermon  did  not  do  you  much  good,  Coz, "  said 
Stanton,  maliciously. 

"No;  it  did  not.  It  did  me  harm,  if  such  a  thing  were 
possible,"  was  the  reckless  reply. 

"Human  nature  is  ^generally  regarded  as  capable  of  im- 
provement," remarked  Stanton,  sententiously. 

"I  was  not  speaking  of  human  nature  generally,"  said 
Ida;  "I  was  thinking  of  myself." 


204  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"As  usual,  my  charming  cousin." 

She  flushed  resentfully,  but  did  not  reply. 

"And  I  feel  that  Miss  Mayhew  has  done  herself  injustice 
in  her  thought,"  said  Miss  Burton,  with  a  sympathetic  glance 
at  Ida.  "And  how  is  it  with  you,  Mr.  Van  Berg?  Do  you 
dread  growing  old  ?' ' 

"I  fear  my  opinion  will  remind  you  of  Jack  Bunsby,"  re- 
plied the  artist.  "Growing  old  is  like  a  prospective  jour- 
ney. So  much  depends  upon  the  country  through  which 
you  travel  and  your  company.  My  father  and  mother  are 
taking  a  summer  excursion  through  Norway  and  Sweden, 
and  I  know  they  are  enjoying  themselves  abundantly. 
They  have  had  a  good  time  growing  old.  Why  should 
not  others?" 

Ida  appeared  to  resent  his  words  bitterly;  and  with  a 
tone  and  manner  that  surprised  every  one  she  said: 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  could  not  have  believed  that  you  were 
capable  of  making  so  superficial  a  reply.  Why  not  say,  if 
the  poor  were  rich,  if  the  ugly  were  beautiful,  if  the  sick 
were  well,  if  the  bad  were  good,  and  we  all  had  our  heart's 
desires,  we  could  journey  on  complacently  and  prosper* 
ously?" 

The  artist  flushed  deeply  under  this  address,  coming 
from  such  an  unexpected  quarter;  but  he  replied  quietly: 

"The  allusion  with  which  I  prefaced  my  remark,  Miss 
Mayhew,  proved  that  1  regarded  my  opinion  as  of  little 
value;  and  yet  I  have  no  better  one  to  offer.  Nothing  is 
more  trite  than  the  comparison  of  life  to  a  journey  or  a  pil- 
grimage. If  one  were  compelled  to  travel  with  very  disa- 
greeable people,  in  fifth-rate  conveyances,  and  through  re- 
gions uninteresting  or  repulsive,  the  journey,  or  to  abandon 
the  figure,  growing  old,  might  well  be  dreaded.  From  my 
soul  I  would  pity  one  condemned  to  such  a  fate.  It  would, 
indeed,  be  'dreary  plodding'  where  one's  best  hope  would 
be  that  he  might  stumble  into  his  grave  as  soon  as  possible. 
But  I  do  not  believe  in  any  such  dreary  fatalism.  We  are 
endowed  with  intelligence  to  choose  carefully  our  paths  and 


SUNDAY    TABLE-TALK  205 

companions;  and  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  majority 
might  choose  wisely  enough  to  make  life  an  agreeable  jour- 
ney in  the  main." 

"Look  here,  Yan;  I'm  no  casuist,"  said  Stanton  with  a 
shrug;  "but  I  can  detect  a  flaw  in  your  philosophy  at  once. 
Suppose  one  wanted  good  company  and  could  not  get  it." 

"He  had  better  jog  on  alone,  in  that  case,  than  take  bad 
company." 

"And  heavy  jogging  it  might  be  too,"  muttered  Stanton, 
with  a  frown. 

Ida's  head  dropped  low  and  her  face  became  very  pale. 
Her  impulsive  cousin,  in  expressing  his  own  tormenting 
fear,  had  unconsciously  defined  what  promised  to  be  her 
wretched  experience.  She  felt  that  the  artist's  eyes  were 
upon  her;  and  in  the  blind  impulse  to  shield  her  secret, 
which  then  was  so  vividly  plain  to  her  consciousness,  she 
raised  her  head  suddenly,  and  with  a  reckless  laugh  re- 
marked: 

"For  a  wonder  I  also  can  half  agree  with  Mr.  Van  Berg 
— congenial  society  for  me  or  none  at  all." 

A  second  later  she  could  have  bitten  her  tongue  out  be- 
fore uttering  words  which  virtually  claimed  Sibley  as  her 
most  congenial  companion. 

"Miss  Mayhew  is  better  than  most  of  us  in  that  she  lives 
up  to  her  theories,"  Van  Berg  remarked,  coldly. 

Her  eyes  shot  at  him  a  sudden  flash  of  impotent  protest 
and  resentment,  and  then  she  lowered  her  head  with  a  flush 
of  the  deepest  shame. 

At  that  moment  a  loud  discordant  laugh  from  Sibley 
caused  many  to  look  around  toward  him,  and  not  a  few 
shook  their  heads  and  exchanged  significant  glances,  inti- 
mating that  they  thought  the  young  man  was  in  a  "bad 
way. ' ' 

"Your  philosophy,  Mr.  Van  Berg,"  said  Miss  Burton, 
"may  answer  very  well  for  the  wise  and  fortunate,  for  those 
whose  lives  are  as  yet  unspoiled  and  unblighted  by  them- 
selves or  others.     But  even  an  artist,  who  by  his  vocation 


206  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

gives  his  attention  to  the  beautiful,  must  nevertheless  see 
that  there  are  many  in  the  world  who  are  neither  wise  nor 
fortunate — who  seem  predestined  by  their  circumstances, 
folly,  and  defective  natures  to  blunder  and  sin  till  they 
reach  a  point  where  reason  and  intelligence  can  do  little 
more  for  them  than  reveal  how  foolish  and  wrong  they 
have  been,  or  how  great  a  good  they  have  missed  and  lost 
irrevocably.  The  past,  with  its  opportunities,  has  gone, 
and  the  remnant  of  earthly  life  offers  such  a  dismal  pros- 
pect, and  they  find  themselves  so  shut  up  to  a  certain  lot, 
so  shackled  by  the  very  conditions  in  which  they  exist,  that 
they  are  disheartened.  It  is  so  hard  for  many  of  us  not  to 
feel  that  we  have  been  utterly  defeated  and  so  sink  into 
fatal  apathy.'' 

Mr.  Mayhew,  who  had  been  coldly  impassive  and  reso- 
lutely taciturn  thus  far,  now  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and 
his  eyes  glowed  like  two  lamps  from  beneath  the  eaves  of 
his  shaggy  brows.  A  young  and  lovely  woman  was  giving 
voice  to  his  own  crushed  and  ill-starred  nature;  and  strange 
to  say,  she  identified  herself  with  the  class  for  which  she 
spoke.  In  the  depths  of  his  heart  he  bowed  down,  rever- 
enced, and  thanked  her  for  claiming  this  kinship  to  himself, 
even  though  he  knew  it  must  be  misfortune  and  not  wrong 
that  had  marred  her  life. 

If  Van  Berg  had  not  been  so  preoccupied  with  the 
speaker,  he  would  have  seen  that  the  daughter  also  was 
hanging  on  the  lips  that  were  expressing  simply  and  elo- 
quently the  thoughts  with  which  her  own  heavy  heart  was 
burdened.  But  when  the  artist  began  to  speak,  Ida's  face 
grew  paler  than  ever  as  she  saw  the  glow  of  admiration  and 
sympathy  that  lighted  up  his  features.  Compliments  she 
had  received  in  endless  variety  all  her  life,  but  never  had 
she  seen  a  man  look  at  her  with  that  expression. 

i; Pardon  me,  Miss  Burton,"  he  said,  "if  I  protest  against 
your  using  the  pronoun  you  did.  No  one  will  ever  be  able 
to  associate  the  word  'defeat'  with  you.  I  do  not  under- 
stand your  philosophy;  but  I  know  it  is  far  better  than 


SUNDAY    TABLE-TALK  207 

mine.     While  I  admit  the  truth  of  your  words  that  I  do  pro- 
fessionally shut  my  eyes  as  far  as  possible  to  all  the  ugly  facts 
of  life,  still  1  have  been  compelled  to  note  that  the  world  is 
full  of  evils  for  which  I  can  see  no  remedy,  and  as  a  matter 
of  common  experience  they  apparently  never  are  remedied. 
Good  steering  and  careful  seamanship  are  immensely  im- 
portant; but  of  what  use  are  they  if  one  is  caught  in  a  tor- 
nado or  maelstrom,    or   wedged   in   among    rocks,   so  that 
going  to  pieces  is  only  a  question  of  time  ?     Good  seaman- 
ship ought  to  keep  one  from  such  a  fate,  it  may  be  said. 
So  it  does  in  the  majority  of  instances;   but  often  the  wisest 
are  caught.     If  you  will  realize  it,  Miss  Burton,  all  in  this 
house,  men,  women,  and  children,  are  about  as  able  to  take 
a  ship  across  the  Atlantic  as  to  make  the  life  voyage  wisely 
and  safely.     As  a  rule,  we  only  sail  and  sail.     Where  we  are 
going,  and  what  we  shall  meet,  the  Lord  only  knows — we 
don't.     I  have  travelled  abroad  at  times,    and   have  seen 
a  little  of  society  at   home,  and  if  growing  selfish,  mean, 
and  vicious  is  going  to  the  bad,  then  it  would  seem  that 
more  find  the  bottom  than  any  port. ' ' 

"Oh,  hush,  Mr.  Van  Berg,"  cried  Miss  Burton.  "You 
fill  the  world  with  a  blind,  stupid  fate,  and  the  best  one 
can  hope  for  is  the  rare  good-luck  or  the  skilful  dodging 
which  enables  one  to  escape  the  random  blows  and  storms. 
I  believe  in  God  and  law,  although  I  confess  I  can  under- 
stand neither.  As  the  good  Mussulman  looks  toward  Mecca, 
so  I  look  toward  them  and  pray  and  hope  on.  This  snarl  of 
life  will  yet  be  untangled." 

"I  assure  you  that  I  try  to  do  the  same,  but  not  with 
your  success,  I  fear.  Your  illustration  strikes  me  as  unfor- 
tunate. The  Moslem  looks  toward  Mecca;  but  what  is  there 
in  Mecca  worth  looking  toward?  If  he  only  thought  so, 
might  he  not  as  well  look  in  any  other  direction  ?' ' 

"Please  don't  talk  so,  Mr.  Van  Berg.  Don't  you  see  that 
he  can't  look  in  any  other  direction?  He  has  been  taught 
to  look  thither  till  it  is  part  of  his  nature  to  do  so.  In  de- 
stroying his  faith  you  may  destroy  him.     Pardon  me,  if  I 


208  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

ask  you  to  please  remember  that  faith  in  God  and  a  future 
life  is  more  vitally  important  to  some  of  us  than  our  daily 
bread.  We  may  not  be  able  to  explain  it,  but  we  must  hope 
and  trust,  or  perish.  To  go  back  to  your  nautical  illustra- 
tion, suppose  some  who  had  been  wrecked  were  clinging  to 
a  rocky  shore,  and  trying  to  clamber  up  out  of  the  cold 
spray  and  surf  to  warmth  and  safety;  would  it  not  be  a 
cruel  thing  to  go  along  the  shore  and  unloosen  the  poor 
numb  hands,  however  gently  and  scientifically  it  might  be 
done  ?  Loosing  that  hold  means  sinking  to  unknown  depths. 
With  complacent  self-approval  and  with  learned  Athenian 
airs,  many  of  the  savants  of  the  day  are  virtually  guilty  of 
this  horrible  cruelty." 

"I  do  not  take  sides  with  the  Athenians  who  called  St. 
Paul  a  babbler,"  said  Van  Berg,  flushing;  "yet  truth  com- 
pels me  to  admit  that  I  could  worship  more  sincerely  at  the 
'Altar  of  the  unknown  God'  than  before  any  conception 
of  Deity  that  modern  theology  has  presented  to  my  mind. 
That  does  not  prove  much,  I  am  bound  to  say,  for  I  have 
never  given  these  subjects  sufficient  attention  to  be  entitled 
to  have  opinions.  Still,  I  like  fair  play,  whatever  be  the 
consequences.  Your  arraignment  of  talking  sceptics  is  a 
severe  one  and  strikes  me  in  a  new  light.  Might  they  not 
urge,  in  self-defence,  that  there  was  a  deeper  and  darker 
abyss  on  the  further  side  of  the  rock  to  which  the  wrecked 
were  clinging.  May  they  not  argue  that  the  grasp  of  faith 
may  lead  to  a  deeper  and  more  bitter  disappointment?" 

"How  can  they  know  that?  How  can  they  know  what 
shall  be  in  the  ages  to  come?"  replied  Miss  Burton,  speak- 
ing rapidly.  "This  is  the  situation: — I  am  clinging  to  some 
hope,  something  that  I  believe  to  be  truth  which  sustains 
me,  and  the  only  force  of  the  skeptic's  words  is  to  loosen 
my  grasp.  No  better  support  is  given,  no  new  hope  in- 
spired. Believe  me,"  she  concluded  passionately,  "I  would 
rather  die  a  thousand  deaths  by  torture  than  lose  my  faith 
that  there  is  a  God  who  will  bring  order  out  of  this  chaos 
of  broken,  thwarted  lives,  of  which  the  world  is  full,  and 


SUNDAY    TABLE-TALR  209 

that  those  who  seek  a  'happier  shore1  will  eventually 
find  it." 

"You  will  find  it,"  said  Van  Berg,  in  low  emphatic 
tones;  and  then  he  added  with  a  shrug,  as  he  rose  from  the 
table,  "I  wish  my  chances  were  as  good." 

Ida,  who  a  few  weeks  before  would  have  heard  this  con- 
versation with  unqualified  disgust,  had  listened  with  eager 
eyes  and  parted  lips,  and  she  now  said  coldly,  but  with 
a  deep  sigh: 

"Your  God  and  happy  shore,  Miss  Burton,  are  too  vague 
and  far  away.  Troubles  and  temptations  are  in  our  very 
hearts." 

Yan  Berg  looked  hastily  toward  her,  but  she  rose  and 
turned  her  face  from  him. 

Mr.  Mayhew  shook  his  head  despondently,  as  if  his 
daughter's  words  found  a  deep,  sad  echo  in  his  own  nature. 

"Let  us  hear  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter;  said 
the  wise  man  of  old,  'All  is  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit,'  " 
cried  Stanton,  with  the  air  of  one  who  was  trying  to  escape 
from  a  nightmare. 

Miss  Burton  at  once  became  her  old  smiling  self. 

"You  do  not  quote  'the  wise  man'  correctly,"  she  said; 
"but  you  remind  me  that  he  did  say  'a  merry  heart  doeth 
good  like  a  medicine.'  It  is  like  mercy,  'twice  blessed.' 
This  much,  at  least,  I  know  is  true;  and  Mr.  Van  Berg's 
words  have  put  us  all  at  sea  to  such  an  extent  that  it  is  well 
to  find  one  wee  solid  point  to  stand  on." 

As  the  artist  passed  out  he  found  opportunity  to  whisper 
in  her  ear: 

"I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  honor  the  woman  who 
with  her  sad  heart  makes  others  'merry.'  " 

She  blushed  and  smiled,  but  only  said:  "How  blind  you 
are,  Mr.  Van  Berg!  Can't  you  perceive  that  nothing  else 
does  me  so  much  good  ?  Now  you  see  how  selfish  I 
am!" 

Ida  saw  him  whisper,  and  noted  the  answering  smile  and 
blush.     Was  it  strange  that  so  slight  a  thing  should  depress 


210  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

her  more  than  all  the  evils  of  the  present  world  and  the 
world  to  come  ? 

Surely,  since  human  hearts  are  what  they  are,  a  far- 
away God  would  be  like  the  sun  of  the  tropics  to  the  ice- 
bound at  the  poles. 


A    FAMILY   GROUP  2U 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A   FAMILY   GROUP 

THE  old  adage,  that  "as  the  wine  comes  in  the  man 
steps  out,"  was  not  true  of  Sibley,  for  the  man  had 
stepped  out  permanently  long  since.  But  not  very 
much  wine  was  required  to  overthrow  the  flimsy  barriers 
of  self-restraint  and  courtesy  that  he  tried  to  interpose  in 
his  sober  moments  between  his  true  self  and  society.  Mr. 
Burleigh  frowned  at  him  more  than  once  during  the  dinner 
hour,  and  was  glad  to  see  him  stroll  off  in  the  grounds  with 
his  boon  companions. 

Stanton  followed  the  Mayhews  to  their  rooms,  for  he 
wished  to  remonstrate  with  Ida  and  Mrs.  May  hew  in  regard 
to  their  apparent  intimacy  with  the  fellow. 

4 'Ida,"  he  said,  "do  you  realize  the  force  of  your  words 
to  Mr.  Van  Berg  at  the  table  to-day,  taken  in  connection 
with  your  action?  You  said,  'congenial  society  for  me,  or 
none  at  all.'  Whatever  Van's  faults  are,  he  is  a  perfect 
gentleman;  and  yet  you  treat  him  as  rudely  and  coldly  as 
you  can,  and  assert  by  your  actions  that  Sibley's  society  is 
by  far  the  most  congenial  to  you." 

Ida's   overstrained    nerves    gave    way,    and    she    said, 

irritably : 

"You  understood  the  cheerful  questions  of  our  appe- 
tizing table-talk  to-day  better  than  you  understand  me;  so 
please  be  still." 

"Oh,  pshaw,  Ik,"  commenced  Mrs.  May  hew,  who  now 
began  to  wake  up  since  the  theme  was  quite  within  her 
sphere,  "you  are  affecting  very  Puritanical  views  of  late. 


212  4    FACE   ILLUMINED 

It  does  not  seem  so  very  long  since  you  and  Sibley  were 
good  friends." 

"It  is  within  the  memory  of  woman,  if  not  of  man," 
added  Ida,  maliciously,  "since  you  drank  his  brandy,  and 
considerable  of  it,  too." 

Stanton  flushed  angrily,  but  controlled  himself. 

"He  was  never  my  friend — never  more  than  an  ac- 
quaintance," he  said  emphatically,  "and  I  never  before 
knew  him  as  well  as  I  do  now.  Moreover,  I  may  as  well 
say  it  plainly,  I  am  through  with  that  style  of  men,  for- 
ever. There  is  little  prospect  of  my  ever  becoming  saint- 
like, but  I  shall,  at  least,  cease  to  be  vulgar  in  my  associa- 
tions.   I  protest  against  Sibley's  coming  to  our  table  again." 

"You  are  absurdly  unreasonable,"  replied  Mrs.  May  hew 
in  an  aggrieved  tone.  "Sibley  is  only  sowing  his  wild  oats 
now  as  you  did  in  the  past.  I  don't  know  why  he  is  not  as 
good  as  your  friend  Mr.  Van  Berg,  who,  as  far  as  I  can  make 
out,  is  more  of  an  infidel  than  anything  else.  I  never  could 
endure  these  doubting,  unsettling  people." 

"I  admit  that  Sibley  is  established,"  said  Stanton. 
"There  is  little  prospect  of  his  ever  getting  out  of  the  mire 
in  which  he  is  now  imbedded." 

"Nonsense!  What  has  Sibley  done  that  is  particularly 
oat  of  the  way,  more  than  you  and  other  young  men  ?  I'm 
sure  his  family  is  quite  as  rich  and  fashionable  as  that  of 
this  artist." 

"More  rich  and  fashionable.  There  is  just  the  difference 
between  the  Sibleys  and  the  Van  Bergs  that  there  is  between 
a  drop  curtain  at  a  theatre  and  one  of  Bierstadt's  oil  paint- 
ings. There  is  more  paint  and  surface  in  the  former,  but 
truth  and  genius  in  the  latter.  If  you  prefer  paint  and  sur- 
face, it  is  a  matter  of  taste. ' ' 

"I  won't  endure  such  insinuations  from  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Mayhew,  indignantly. 

"Oh,  hush,  mother!"  said  Ida,  quietly.  "I  think  Ik  is 
very  magnanimous  in  praising  his  friend  in  view  of  circum- 
stances that  are  becoming  quite  apparent.     Possibly  he  is 


A    FAMILY    GROUP 


213 


exaggerating  a  little,  in  order  to  show  us  what  a  great, 
generous  soul  he  has.  For  one,  I  would  like  to  know 
wherein  this  superior  race  of  Van  Bergs  differs  from  those 
who  have  had  the  presumption  to  suppose  themselves  at 

least  equals." 

Ida's  allusion  and  tone  stung  Stanton  into  saymg  more 
than  he  intended,  and  thus  the  girl's  artifice  became  suc- 
cessful. Hearing  about  Van  Berg  and  all  that  related  to 
him  was  like  looking  out  of  a  desert  into  a  fruitful  oasis; 
and  yet  cruel  as  was  the  fascination,  it  was  also  irresistible. 

11  The  manner  in  which  the  Van  Bergs  live  would   be 
a  revelation  to  you,"  said  Stanton,  angrily,  kland  one  an- 
doubtedly  not  at  all  to  your  taste.     In  comparison  with  the 
Sibley  show-rooms,    which  are  stuffed  and   crowded  with 
costly  and  incongruous  trumpery,  Mrs.  Van  Berg's  house 
would  seem  very  plain;  bat  to  one  capable  of  distinguish- 
ing the  difference,  the  evidence  of  mind  and  taste,  instead 
of  mere  money,  is  seen  od  every  side.    Simplicity  and  beauty 
are  united  as  far  as  possible.     Everything  is  the  best  of  its 
kind  and  devoid  of  veneer  and  sham.      There  is  no  lavish 
and  vulgar  profusion,  and  there  is  a  harmony  of  color  and 
decoration  that  makes  every  room  a  picture  in  itself.     More- 
over, the  house  does  not  grow  suddenly  shabby  after  you 
leave  those  parts  which  are  seen  by  visitors.     It  is  all  gen- 
uine and  high-toned,  like  the  people  who  live  in  it." 

11  What  sort  of  people  are  Mrs.  Van  Berg  and  her  daugh- 
ter?"   Ida  asked,   with  averted  face  and   low  constrained 

voice. 

"Mrs.  Van  Berg  comes  of  a  family  that  has  been  aristo- 
cratic for  several  generations,  and  one  that  has  been  singu- 
larly free  from  black  sheep.  She  appears  to  strangers 
somewhat  reserved  and  stately,  but  when  you  become 
better  acquainted  you  find  she  has  a  warm,  kind  heart 
But  she  has  a  perfect  horror  of  vulgarity.  If  she  had  seen 
this  Sibley  take  more  wine  than  he  ought  and  make  a  spec- 
tacle of  himself  at  a  public  table,  she  would  no  more  admit 
him  to  her  parlor  than  a  Bowery  rough.    Mere  wealth  would 


214  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

not  turn  the  scale  a  hair  in  his  favor.  If  she  has  impressed 
on  her  son  one  trait  more  than  another,  it  is  this  disgust 
with  all  kinds  of  vulgar  people  and  vulgar  vice.  I  don't 
think  Van  will  sit  down  at  the  same  table  with  Sibley 
again,  or  permit  Miss  Burton  to  do  so." 
'  Ida  averted  her  face  still  further,  but  said  nothing. 

"Indeed!"  said  Mrs.  May  hew;  "and  has  Miss  Burton 
given  him  the  rights  of  a  protector." 

"Sorry  to  disappoint  you,  aunt;  but  I  have  no  nice  bit 
of  gossip  to  report.  Miss  Burton  is  an  orphan,  and  so  any 
friend  of  hers  has  a  right  to  protect  her.  I  would  have  taken 
this  matter  into  my  own  hands  were  it  not  out  of  considera- 
tion for  you  and  Ida,  who  unfortunately  have  permitted 
yourselves  to  be  identified  with  Sibley  as  his  especial 
friends.  Indeed,  most  in  the  house  regard  him  as  Ida's 
favored  or  accepted  suitor.  But  I  warn  you  to  cut  loose 
from  him  at  once  or  you  may  suffer  a  severe  humiliation. 
If  you  and  Ida  will  continue  to  encourage  him,  then  I  tell 
you  plainly  I  shall  follow  you  no  further  into  the  slough." 

The  maiden  stamped  her  foot  and  made  an  emphatic 
gesture  of  rage  and  protest,  but  did  not  trust  herself  to  an- 
swer the  cruel  words,  each  one  of  which  was  like  the  thrust 

of  a  knife. 

But  Mrs.  Mayhew,  whose  desire  to  be  respectable  was  a 
ruling  passion,  now  became  thoroughly  alarmed  and  said 

hastily: 

"Mr.  Sibley  is  certainly  nothing  to  me,  and  I  hope  noth- 
ing to  Ida.  Get  rid  of  him  any  way  you  can,  since  things 
have  reached  the  pass  you  represent.  If  society  is  going 
to  put  him  under  ban,  we  must  cut  him;  that's  all  there  i? 
about  it,  and  his  behavior  at  dinner  gives  us  an  excuse. 

During  this  conversation  Mr.  Mayhew  had  been  lying  on 
a  sofa  with  closed  eyes,  and  as  motionless  as  if  he  were  dead. 
Now  he  said  in  low,  bitter  tones:  "Mark  it  well— an  excuse, 
not  a  reason.     0  virtue!  how  beautiful  thou  art!" 

"You  are  the  last  one  in  the  world  to  speak  on  this  sub- 
ject," said  Mrs.  Mayhew,  angrily. 


A    FAMILY    GROUP  215 

"Eight  again.  You  see,  Ik,  my  family  never  before  met 
a  man  who  promised  to  make  such  an  appropriate  addition 
to  our  number.  It's  a  pity  you  are  interfering;"  and  he 
poured  out  a  large  glass  of  brandy. 

"Would  to  God  I  had  died  before  I  had  seen  this  day!" 
cried  Ida  in  a  tone  of  such  sharp  agony  that  all  turned  to- 
ward her  in  questioning  surprise;  but  she  rushed  into  her 
room  and  locked  the  door  after  her. 

"Things  have  gone  further  between  her  and  Sibley  than 
we  thought,"  said  Stanton,  gloomily. 

"Well,  Ik,"  said  Mr.  May  hew  with  a  laugh  that  was 
dreadful  to  hear,  "you  had  better  cut  loose  from  us.  We 
are  all  going  to  the  devil  by  the  shortest  cut." 

"Would  to  heaven  I  had  never  seen  you!"  cried  Mrs. 
May  hew,  hysterically.  "  You  are  the  one  who  is  dragging 
us  down.  If  my  nephew  deserts  us,  I  will  brand  him  as  a 
coward  and  no  gentleman." 

"I'll  not  desert  you  unless  you  desert  yourself,"  said 
Stanton,  with  a  gesture  of  disgust  and  impatience;  "but  if 
you  persist  in  going  down  into  the  deepest  quagmires  you 
can  find,  you  cannot  expect  me  to  follow  you;"  and  with 
these  words  he  left  the  room. 

Mr.  May  hew  was  soon  sunk  in  the  deepest  lethargy,  and 
his  wife  spent  the  afternoon  in  impotently  fretting  and  fum- 
ing against  her  "miserable  fate,"  as  she  termed  it,  and  in 
trying  to  devise  some  way  of  keeping  up  appearances, 


216  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

RATHER     VOLCANIC 

STANTON  was  glad  to  escape  from  the  house  after  the 
interview  described  in  the  previous  chapter;  and  ob- 
serving that  Van  Berg  was  reclining  under  a  tree  at 
some  little  distance  from  the  hotel,  strolled  thither  and 
threw  himself  down  on  the  grass  beside  him.  But  his  per- 
turbation was  so  evident  that  his  friend  remarked: 

44 You  are  out  of  sorts,  Ik.     What's  the  matter?" 

44I've  been  settling  this  Sibley  business  with  my  aunt 
and  cousin,"  snarled  Stanton;  44and  some  women  always 
make  such  blasted  fools  of  themselves.  But  they  won't 
have  anything  more  to  do  with  him;  at  least,  I'm  sure  my 
aunt  won't.  As  for  Ida— 'but  the  less  said  the  better.  I'm 
so  out  of  patience  with  her  folly  that  I  can't  trust  myself  to 
speak  of  her." 

44  Stan  ton,"  said  Van  Berg,  gloomily,  4'you  have  no  idea 
of  the  regret  and  disquiet  which  that  girl  has  caused  me  as 
an  artist.  I  have  seen  her  features  now  for  weeks,  and  I 
cannot  help  looking  at  them,  for  they  almost  realize  my 
ideal  of  perfection.  But  the  associations  of  this  beauty  are 
beginning  to  irritate  me  beyond  endurance." 

"It  was  a  motley  crowd  that  I  was  the  means  of  bringing 
to  your  table,"  said  Stanton,  with  an  oath;  uand  I've  no 
doubt  you  have  wished  us  all  away  many  times." 

Van  Berg  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's  arm,  and  looked 
into  his  eyes. 

44 Ik,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  was  your  friend  when  I  came 
here — I  am  your  friend  still.     If  I  cannot  love  you  better 


RATHER    VOLCANIC  217 

than  I  do  myself,  you  must  forgive  me.  But  I  shall  never 
take  one  unfair  advantage  of  you,  and  I  recognize  the  fact 
that  you  have  equal  rights  with  myself.  Ik,  let  us  be  frank 
with  each  other  this  once  more,  and  then  the  future  must 
settle  all  questions.  The  woman  we  both  love  is  too  pure 
and  good  for  either  of  us  to  do  a  mean  thing  to  win  her. 
Do  your  best,  old  fellow.  If  you  succeed,  I  will  congratu- 
late you  with  an  honest  heart  even  though  it  be  a  heavy 
one.  I  shall  not  detract  from  you  in  the  slightest  degree, 
or  cease  to  show  for  you  the  thorough  liking  and  respect 
that  I  feel.  It  shall  simply  be  a  maiden's  choice  between 
us  two;  and  you  know  it  is  said  that  the  heart  makes  this 
choice  for  reasons  inexplicable  even  to  itself." 

"Van,  you  are  a  noble,  generous  fellow,"  said  the  im- 
pulsive Stanton,  grasping  his  friend's  hand.  "I  must  admit 
that  you  have  been  a  fair  and  considerate  rival.  Even  my 
jealousy  could  find  no  fault."  Then  he  added,  in  deep  de- 
spondency: "But  it  is  of  no  use.  You  have  virtually  won 
already." 

"No,"  said  Van  Berg,  thoughtfully,  "I  wish  you  were  not 
mistaken,  but  you  are.  There  is  something  in  her  manner 
toward  me  at  times  which  I  cannot  understand;  but  I  have 
a  conviction  that  I  have  not  touched  her  heart." 

"She  does  not  avoid  you  as  she  does  me,"  said  Stanton, 
moodily. 

"No,  she  accepts  of  my  society  much  too  frankly  and 
composedly,"  answered  Van  Berg  with  a  shrug.  "I  fear 
that  I  can  join  her  anywhere  and  at  any  time  without  quick- 
ening her  pulse  or  deepening  the  color  in  her  cheeks.  Now, 
Ik,  we  understand  each  other.  Happy  the  man  who  wins, 
and  if  you  are  the  fortunate  one,  I'll  dance  at  your  wed- 
ding, and  no  one  shall  see  that  I  carry  a  thousand  pounds' 
weight,  more  or  less,  in  my  heart." 

ltI  can't  promise  to  do  as  much  for  you,  Van,"  said 
Stanton,  trying  to  smile.  "1  could  not  come  to  your  wed- 
ding. In  fact,  Van,  I— I  hardly  know  what  I  would  do 
—what  I  will  do.     A  few  weeks  since  and  the  world  was 

10— Roe— XII 


218  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

abundantly  satisfactory.  Now  it  is  becoming  a  vacuum. 
I  fear  I  haven't  a  ghost  of  a  chance,  and  I— I—don't  like 
to  think  of  the  future.  Ye  gods!  What  a  change  one  little 
woman  can  make  in  a  man's  life!  I  used  to  laugh  at  these 
things,  and  for  the  past  few  years  thought  myself  invulner- 
able. And  yet,  Van,"  he  added  with  sudden  energy,  llI 
think  the  better  of  myself  that  I  can  love  and  honor  that 
woman.  Did  I  regard  her  now  as  I  supposed  I  would  when 
you  first  uttered  your  half-jesting  prophecy,  what  a  base 
soulless  anatomy  I  would  be — " 

"Sacref  here  comes  Sibley  and  others  of  the  same  ilk, 
gabbling  like  the  unmitigated  fools  that  they  are." 

Van  Berg  turned  his  back  upon  the  advancing  party  in 
an  unmistakable  manner,  and  Stanton  smoked  with  a  stolid, 
impassive  face  that  had  anything  but  a  welcome  in  it.  Sib- 
ley was  just  sufficiently  excited  by  wine  to  act  out  recklessly 

his  evil  self. 

4 'What's  the  matter,  Stanton?"  he  exclaimed.  "Your 
phiz  is  as  long  as  if  the  world  looked  black  and  blue  as 
a  prize-fighter's  eye.  Is  Sunday  an  off  day  in  your  flirta- 
tion ?  Does  the  little  school-ma'am  take  after  her  Puritan 
daddies,  and  say  'Hold  thy  hand  till  Monday?'  Get  her 
out  of  the  crowd,  and  you'll  find  it  all  a  pretence." 

Stanton  rose  to  his  feet,  but  was  so  quiet  that  Sibley  did 
not  realize  the  storm  he  was  raising.  Van  Berg  remained 
on  the  ground  with  his  back  to  the  party,  but  was  smoking 

furiously. 

By  an  effort  at  self-control  that  made  his  voice  harsh  and 
constrained,  Stanton  said,  briefly: 

44 Mr.  Sibley,  I  request  that  you  never  mention  that 
lady's  name  to  me  again  in  any  circumstances.  I  request 
that  you  never  mention  her  name  to  any  one  else  except  in 
tones  and  words  of  the  utmost  respect.  I  make  these  re- 
quests politely,  as  is  befitting  the  day  and  my  own  self- 
respect;  but  if  you  disregard  them  the  consequences  to 
you  will  be  very  serious." 

44Good  Lord,  Stanton!    has  she  treated  you  so  badly? 


RATHER    VOLCANIC  219 

But  don't  take  it  to  heart.  It's  all  Yankee  thrift,  designed 
to  enhance  her  value.  We  are  all  men  of  the  world  here, 
and  know  what  women  are.  If  it's  true  every  man  has  his 
price,  every  woman  has  a  smaller — " 

Before  he  could  utter  another  word  a  blow  in  his  face 
from  Stanton  sent  him  sprawling  to  the  earth.  He  sprang 
up  and  was  about  to  draw  a  concealed  weapon,  when  his 
companions  interfered  and  held  him. 

"I  shall  settle  with  you  for  this,"  he  half  shouted,  grind- 
ing his  teeth. 

"You  shall  indeed,  sir,"  said  Stanton,  "and  as  early, 
too,  as  the  light  will  permit  to-morrow.  Here  is  my  friend 
Mr.  Van  Berg,"  pointing  to  the  artist,  who  stood  beside 
him,  "and  you  have  your  friends  with  you.  You  must 
either  apologize,  or  meet  me  as  soon  as  Sunday  is  past." 

"I'll  meet  you  now,"  cried  Sibley,  with  a  volley  of 
oaths.     "I  want  no  cowardly  subterfuge  of  Sunday." 

Stanton  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said  decidedly: 

"No;  I'm  not  a  blackguard  like  yourself,  and  out  of 
respect  for  the  Sabbath  and  others  I  will  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  you  to-day;  but  I  will  meet  you  to-morrow 
as  soon  as  it  is  light;"  and  Stanton  turned  away  to  avoid 
further  provocation. 

Van  Berg  thus  far  had  stood  quietly  one  side,  but  his 
face  had  that  white,  rigid  aspect  which  indicates  the  rare 
but  dangerous  anger  of  men  usually  quiet  and  undemon- 
strative in  their  natures. 

"Now  that  you  are  through,  Stanton,  I  have  something 
to  say  concerning  this  affair,"  he  began,  in  words  that  were 
as  clean-cut  and  hard  as  steel.  "If  you  propose  to  give 
this  fellow  a  dog's  whipping  to-morrow,  I  will  go  with  you 
and  witness  the  well-deserved  chastisement.  But  if  you  are 
intending  a  conventional  duel,  I  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  for  two  reasons.  The  first  reason  this  fellow  will 
not  understand.  Duelling  is  against  my  principles,  and  he 
knows  nothing  of  principle.  But  even  if  I  accepted  the  old 
and  barbarous  code,  I  should  insist  that  a  friend  of  mine 


220  4    FACE   ILLUMINED 

should  fight  with  a  gentleman,  and  not  a  low  black- 
guard." 

"You  use  that  epithet  again  at  your  peril,"  hissed  Sib- 
ley, advancing  a  step  toward  him. 

Van  Berg  made  a  gesture  of  contempt  toward  the  speaker 
as  he  turned  and  said: 

4 'You  understand  me,  Stanton;  it  is  not  from  any  lack 
of  loyalty  toward  you  as  my  friend;  but  I  would  not  be 
worthy  of  your  friendship  were  I  false  to  my  sense  of  duty 
and  honor." 

"You  are  both  white-livered  cowards,"  roared  Sibley. 
"One  sneaks  off  under  cover  of  the  day — I  never  saw  a  fel- 
low taken  with  a  pious  fit  so  suddenly  before.  The  other, 
in  order  to  keep  his  skin  whole,  prates  of  his  dread  lest  his 
principles  be  punctured.  The  devil  take  you  both  for  a 
brace  of  champion  sneaks;"  and  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
was  about  to  stalk  away  with  a  grand  air  of  superiority, 
when  Van  Berg  said,  emphatically: 

"Wait  a  moment;  I'm  not  through  with  you  yet.  1  give 
you  but  a  brief  half- hour  to  complete  your  arrangements  for 
leaving  the  hotel." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Sibley,  turning  fiercely 
upon  him. 

"I  mean,  sir,  that  your  presence  in  that  house  is  an  insult 
to  every  lady  in  it,  which  I,  as  a  gentleman,  shall  no  longer 
permit.  Curse  you,  had  you  no  mother  that  you  could  thus 
insult  all  good  women  by  the  remark  you  made  a  few  mo- 
ments since  ?' ' 

Half  beside  himself  with  rage,  Sibley  drew  a  pistol;  but 
before  he  could  aim  correctly  one  of  his  companions  struck 
up  his  hand  and  the  bullet  whizzed  harmlessly  over  Van 
Berg's  head. 

There  was  a  faint  scream  from  the  house,  which  indicated 
that  the  scene  had  been  witnessed  by  some  lady  there. 

The  intense  passion  of  the  artist,  which  manifested  itself 
characteristically,  held  him  unflinching  to  his  purpose. 

"So  you  can  be  a  murderer  also  ?"  he  said,  scornfully. 


RATHER    VOLCANIC  221 

"It  would  almost  compensate  a  man  for  being  shot,  if,  as 
a  result,  you  could  be  hanged." 

Sibley's  companions  speedily  disarmed  him,  strongly 
remonstrating  in  the  meantime.  He,  in  sudden  revulsion, 
began  to  realize  what  he  had  attempted,  and  his  flushed  face 
became  very  pale. 

"Let  them  leave  me  alone,"  he  growled  sullenly,  "and 
I'll  leave  them  alone." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Mr.  Van  Berg,"  cried  Sibley's  com- 
panions, "let  the  matter  end  here,  lest  worse  come  of  it." 

In  the  same  steely,  relentless  tones,  which  made  every 
word  seem  like  a  bullet,  Van  Berg  took  out  his  watch,  and 
said: 

"It  is  now  four  o'clock,  sir.  After  half-past  four,  you 
must  not  show  your  libertine's  face  in  that  house  again, 
while  there's  a  lady  in  it  that  I  respect." 

"Burleigh  is  proprietor  of  that  house,"  replied  Sibley, 
doggedly;  "and  I'll  stay  up  the  entire  week,  just  to  spite 
you." 

"Let  us  go  to  Burleigh,  then,"  said  the  artist,  promptly. 
"We  will  settle  this  question  at  once." 

Sibley  readily  agreed  to  this  appeal  to  his  host,  fully  be- 
lieving that  he  would  try  to  smooth  over  matters  and  assure 
Van  Berg  that  he  could  not  turn  away  a  wealthy  and  profit- 
able guest;  and  so,  without  further  parley,  they  all  repaired 
to  Mr.  Burleigh's  private  office,  arousing  that  gentleman 
from  an  afternoon  nap  to  a  state  of  mind  that  effectually 
banished  drowsiness  for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

"Mr.  Burleigh,"  began  Sibley,  indignantly,  "this  fel- 
low, Van  Berg,  has  the  impudence  to  say  that  I  must  leave 
this  house  within  half  an  hour.  I  wish  you  to  inform  him 
that  you  are  the  proprietor  of  this  establishment." 

"Humph,"  remarked  Mr.  Burleigh,  phlegmatically,  "that 
is  your  side  of  the  story.  Now,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  let  us  have 
yours." 

"Mr.  Burleigh,"  said  Van  Berg,  in  tones  that  straight- 
ened up  the  languid  host  in  his  easy  chair,  "would  you  per- 


222  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

mit  a  known  and  recognized  disreputable  woman  to  be  flaunt- 
ing about  this  hotel  ?' ' 

"You  know  me  better  than  to  ask  such  a  question,"  said 
the  landlord,  the  color  of  his  ruddy  cheeks  suddenly  deep- 
ening. 

"Well,  sir,  I  claim  that  a  man  who  bears  precisely  the 
same  character  is  no  more  to  be  tolerated;  and  I  have 
learned  to  respect  you  as  one  whom  no  consideration  could 
induce  to  permit  the  presence  of  a  human  beast,  whose  every 
thought  of  woman  is  an  insult." 

"It's  all  an  infernal  lie,"  began  Sibley.  "I  only  made 
a  slight,  half-jesting  allusion  to  that  prudish  little  school- 
ma'am  that  these  fellows  are  so  cracked  over;  and  they 
have  gone  on  like  mad  bulls  ever  since." 

Mr.  Burleigh  started  to  his  feet  with  a  tremendous  oath. 

"You  made  an  'allusion,'  as  you  term  it,  to  Miss  Bur- 
ton, eh !— the  young  lady  who  was  put  under  my  charge, 
and  who  comes  from  one  of  the  best  families  in  New  Eng- 
land. I  know  what  kind  of  allusions  fellows  of  your  kid- 
ney make;"  and  the  incensed  host  struck  his  bell  sharply. 

"Send  the  porter  here  instantly,"  he  said  to  the  boy  who 

answered. 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?"  asked  Sibley,  turning  pale. 

1 '  I  mean  to  put  you  out  of  my  house  within  the  next  ten 
minutes,"  said  Mr.  Burleigh,  emphatically.  "You  might 
as  well  have  made  an  allusion  to  my  wife  as  to  Miss  Bur- 
ton: and  let  me  tell  you  that  if  you  wag  your  wanton  tongue 
again,  I'll  have  my  colored  waiters  whip  you  off  the  prem- 


ises. ' ' 


"But  where  shall  I  go?"  whined  Sibley,  now  thoroughly 

cowed. 

"Go  to  the  nearest  kennel  or  sty  you  can  find.  Either 
place  would  be  more  appropriate  for  you  than  my  house. 
Mr.  Van  Berg  and  Mr.  Stanton,  I  thank  you  for  your  con- 
duct in  this  affair.  You  are  correct  in  supposing  that  I 
wish  to  entertain  only  gentlemen  and  ladies." 

Sibley  now  began  to  bluster  about  law  and  vengeance. 


RATHER    VOLCANIC  223 

"Be  still,  sir,"  thundered  Mr.  Burleigh.  "One  of  the 
carriages  will  take  you  to  the  depot  or  landing,  as  you 
choose.  After  that,  trouble  me  or  mine  again  at  your 
peril.  Now,  be  off.  No,  I'll  not  take  any  of  your  dirty 
money;  and  if  these  friends  of  yours  wish  to  go  with  you 
they  are  welcome  to  do  so. ' ' 

"We  are  only  acquaintances  of  Mr.  Sibley's,"  chorused 
his  late  companions,  "and  came  in  merely  to  see  fair  play." 

"Well,  you  haven't  seen  'fair  play,'  '  growled  Mr.  Bur- 
leigh. "I've  treated  the  fellow  much  better  thanhe  deserves. " 

Before  Sibley  could  realize  it,  a  carriage  whirled  him  and 
his  baggage  away.  His  reckless  anger  having  evaporated, 
the  base  and  cowardly  instincts  of  his  nature  resumed  their 
sway,  and  he  was  glad  to  slink  off  to  New  York,  thus  escap- 
ing further  danger  and  trouble. 


224  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

EVIL   LIVES   CAST   DARK   SHADOWS 

CHANGES  in  the  world  without  often  make  sad  havoc 
in  our  content  and  happiness.  Loss  of  fortune  and 
friends,  removal  to  new  scenes,  death  and  disaster, 
sometimes  so  alter  the  outlook  that  we  have  to  ask  our- 
selves: Is  this  the  same  earth  in  which  we  have  dwelt 
hitherto?  But  the  changes  that  can  most  blast  and 
blacken,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  glorify  the  world  about 
■us,  are  those  which  take  place  within  our  own  souls. 

Such  a  radical  change  had  apparently  taken  place  in  Ida 
Mayhew's  world.  She  was  bewildered  with  her  trouble,  and 
could  not  understand  the  dreary  outlook.  She  had  come  to 
the  Lake  House  but  a  few  weeks  before,  a  vain,  light-hearted 
maiden,  looking  upon  life  with  laughing  and  thoughtless 
glances,  and  having  no  more  definite  purposes  than  the 
butterfly  that  flits  from  flower  to  flower,  caring  not  which 
are  harmless  and  which  poisonous,  so  that  they  yield  a  mo- 
mentary sweetness. 

But  now,  for  causes  utterly  unforeseen  and  half  inex- 
plicable, all  flowers  had  withered,  and  the  old  pleasures, 
once  so  exhilarating,  were  a  weariness  even  in  thought. 
Her  world,  once  a  pleasure  garden,  had  been  transformed 
into  a  path  so  thorny  and  flinty  that  every  step  brought 
new  bruises  and  lacerations;  and  it  led  away  among  shad- 
ows so  cold  and  dark  that  she  shivered  at  the  thought  of 
her  prospective  life. 

Her  heart  had  so  suddenly  and  thoroughly  betrayed  her 
that  she  was  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  helplessness  and 


EVIL    LIVES    CAST   DARK   SHADOWS  225 

perplexity.  The  spoiled  and  flattered  girl  had  always  been 
accustomed  to  have  her  own  way.  Self-gratification  had 
been  the  rule  and  habit  of  her  life.  If  Van  Berg  had  only 
admired  and  complimented  her,  if  he  had  joined  the  hon- 
eyed chorus  of  flattery  that  had  waited  on  her  sensuous 
beauty,  his  voice  would  probably  have  been  unheeded  and 
lost  among  many  others.  But  his  sharp  demand  for  some- 
thing more  than  a  face  and  form  had  awakened  her,  and  to 
her  dismay  she  learned  that  her  real  and  lasting  self  was  as 
dwarfed  and  deformed  as  her  transient  and  outward  self  was 
perfect. 

The  artist  seemed  to  her  princely,  regal  even,  in  his 
strong  cultivated  manhood,  his  lofty  calling  and  ambition, 
and  his  high  social  rank.  As  for  herself,  it  now  appeared 
that  her  beauty,  whose  spell  she  had  thought  no  man  could 
resist,  had  lured  him  to  her  side  only  long  enough  to  dis- 
cover what  she  was  and  who  she  was,  and  then  he  had 
turned  away  in  disgust. 

From  their  first  moment  of  meeting,  she  felt  that  she 
had  been  peculiarly  unfortunate  in  the  impressions  she  had 
made  upon  him.  Her  attendant  at  the  concert-garden  had 
been  a  fool;  and  now  he  was  associating  her  with  a  man 
whom  he  more  than  despised.  She  believed  that  he  pitied 
her  father  as  the  victim  of  a  wife's  heartlessness  and  a 
daughter's  selfishness  and  frivolity,  and  that  he  felt  a  re- 
pugnance toward  her  mother  which  his  politeness  could  not 
wholly  disguise.  He  was  probably  learning  to  characterize 
them  in  his  mind  by  her  father's  horrible  words — "froth  and 
mud." 

Such  miserable  thoughts  were  flocking  round  her  like 
croaking  ravens  as  she  sat  rigid  and  motionless  in  her 
room,  her  form  tense  from  the  severity  of  her  mental  dis- 
tress. Suddenly  Sibley's  loud  tones,  and  her  cousin's  voice 
in  reply,  caught  her  attention,  and  she  opened  the  lattice  of 
the  blinds.  She  had  scarcely  done  so  before  she  saw  Stan- 
ton strike  the  blow  which  had  felled  Sibley  to  the  earth. 

With  breathless  interest  she  watched  the  scene  till  Van 


226  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 

Berg  stepped  forward.  Then  she  sprang  to  a  drawer,  and 
taking  out  a  small  field-glass  which  she  carried  on  her  sum- 
mer excursions,  was  able  to  see  the  expression  of  the  young 
men's  faces,  although  she  could  not  distinguish  their  words. 
The  stern,  menacing  aspect  of  the  artist  made  her  tremble 
even  at  her  distance,  and  it  was  evident  that  his  words  were 
throwing  Sibley  into  a  transport  of  rage;  and  when  in  his 
passion  he  tried  to  shoot  Van  Berg,  she  could  not  repress 
the  cry  that  attracted  their  attention. 

Her  mother,  in  the  adjoining  room,  commenced  knock- 
ing at  the  door,  asking  what  was  the  matter,  but  received 
no  answer  until  Ida  saw  that  the  young  men  were  coming 
toward  the  house.  Then  she  threw  open  the  door,  and  told 
Mrs.  Mayhew  that  she  had  seen  something  that  looked  like 
a  large  spider,  and  that  nothing  was  the  matter.  Without 
waiting  for  further  questioning  she  flitted  hastily  downstairs 
and  from  one  concealed  post  of  observation  to  another  until 
she  saw  the  angry  party  enter  Mr.  Burleigh's  private  office. 
A  small  parlor  next  to  it  was  empty,  and  once  within  it,  the 
loud  tones  spoken  on  the  other  side  of  the  slight  partition 
were  distinctly  heard. 

As  she  listened  to  the  words  which  Van  Berg  and  Mr. 
Burleigh  addressed  to  the  man  whom  all  in  the  house  had 
regarded  as  her  accepted  lover,  or  at  least  her  congenial 
friend,  her  cheeks  grew  scarlet,  and  when  he  was  dismissed 
from  the  house,  she  fled  to  her  room,  wishing  that  it  were  a 
place  in  which  she  might  hide  forever,  so  overwhelming  was 
her  sense  of  shame  and  humiliation. 

How  could  she  meet  the  guests  of  the  Lake  House  again? 
Worse  than  all,  how  could  she  meet  the  scornful  eyes  of  the 
man  who  had  driven  from  the  place  the  suitor  that  she  was 
supposed  to  favor  as  he  might  have  scourged  away  a  dog. 

She  could  not  now  explain  that  Sibley  was  and  ever  had 
been  less  than  nothing  to  her— that  she  had  both  detested 
and  despised  him.  She  had  permitted  herself  to  touch 
pitch,  and  it  had  of  necessity  left  its  stain.  To  go  about 
now  and  proclaim  her  real  sentiments  toward  the  man  who 


EVIL    LIVES    CAST   DARK    SHADOWS  227 

apparently  had  been  her  favorite,  would  seem  to  others,  she 
thought,  the  quintessence  of  meanness.  She  felt  that  she 
had  been  caught  in  the  meshes  of  an  evil  web,  and  that  it 
was  useless  to  struggle. 

Despairing,  hopeless,  her  cheeks  burning  with  shame  as 
with  a  fever,  she  sat  hour  after  hour  refusing  to  see  any  one. 
She  would  not  go  down  to  supper.  She  left  the  food  un- 
tasted  that  was  sent  to  her  room.  She  sat  staring  at  va- 
cancy until  her  face  became  a  dim  pale  outline  in  the  deep- 
ening twilight,  and  finally  was  lost  in  the  shadow  of  night. 
But  the  darkness  that  gathered  around  the  poor  girl's  heart 
was  deeper  and  almost  akin  to  the  rayless  gloom  that  posi- 
tive crime  creates,  so  nearly  did  she  feel  that  she  was  asso- 
ciated with  one  from  whom  her  woman's  soul,  perverted  as 
it  was,  shrank  with  inexpressible  loathing. 

"Ida  is  in  one  of  her  worst  tantrums,"  whispered  Mrs. 
May  hew  to  Stanton;  "I  never  knew  her  to  act  so  badly  as 
she  has  of  late.  I  wouldn't  have  thought  that  such  a  man 
as  you  have  found  Sibley  to  be  could  gain  so  great  a  hold 
upon  her  feelings.  But  law!  she'll  be  all  over  it  in  a  day  or 
two.     Nothing  lasts  with  Ida,  and  least  of  all,  a  beau." 

"Well,"  said  Stanton,  bitterly,  "she  is  disgracing  her- 
self and  all  related  to  her  by  her  inexcusable  folly  in  this 
instance.  Those  who  pretended  to  be  Sibley's  friends  at 
dinner,  are  now  trying  to  win  a  little  respectability  by  turn- 
ing against  him,  and  the  story  of  his  behavior  is  circulating 
through  the  house.  All  will  soon  know  that  he  shot  at  Yan 
Berg,  and  that  he  made  insulting  remarks  about  Miss  Bur- 
ton. It  will  appear  to  every  one  as  if  Ida  were  sulking  in 
her  room  on  Sibley's  account;  and  people  are  usually 
thought  to  be  no    better  than  their  friends." 

"Oh,  dear!"  half  sobbed  Mrs.  Mayhew,  "won't  you  go 
up  to  her  room  and  show  her  the  consequences  of  her 
folly?" 

"No,"  said  Stanton,  irritably;  "not  to-night.  I  know 
her  too  well.  She  will  take  no  advice  from  me  or  any  one 
else  at  present.     To-morrow  I  will  have  one  more  plain  talk 


228  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

with  her;  and  if  she  won't  listen  to  reason  I  wash  my  hands 
of  her.     Where  is  Uncle  ?' ' 

"Don't  ask  me.  Was  there  ever  a  more  unfortunate  wo- 
man ?  With  such  a  husband  and  daughter,  how  can  I  keep 
up  appearances?" 

Stanton  walked  away  with  a  gesture  of  disgust  and  im- 
patience. 

"Curse  it  all !"  he  muttered;  "and  their  shadows  fall  on 
me  too.  What  chance  have  I  with  the  snow-white  maiden 
I'd  give  my  life  for  when  followed  by  such  associations?" 


THE  DELIBERATE   WOOER  SPEAKS  FIRST  229 


M 


CHAPTER   XXX 

THE   DELIBERATE   WOOER   SPEAKS   FIRST 

R.  BURLEIGH  was  one  of  those  fortunate  men  who 
when  the  weather  is  rough  outside — as  was  often 
the  case  in  his  calling — can  always  find  smooth 
water  in  the  domestic  haven  of  a  wife's  apartment.  Thus 
Mrs.  Burleigh  soon  learned  the  cause  of  his  perturbation; 
and  as  she  knew  Jennie  Burton  would  hear  the  story  from 
some  one  else,  could  not  deny  herself  the  feminine  enjoy- 
ment of  being  the  first  to  tell  it,  and  of  congratulating  her 
on  the  knightly  defender  she  had  secured;  for  the  quarrel 
had  come  before  Mr.  Burleigh  in  such  a  form  as  to  make 
Van  Berg  the  principal  in  the  affair. 

Miss  Burton's  cheek  flushed  deeply  and  resentfully  as 
she  heard  the  circumstances  in  which  her  name  had  been 
spoken,  and  she  said  with  emphasis: 

11  Mr.  Van  Berg  impressed  me  as  a  chivalric  man  from 
the  first  day  of  our  meeting.  But  I  wish  he  had  paid  no 
heed  to  the  words  of  such  a  creature  as  Mr.  Sibley.  That 
his  life  was  endangered  on  my  account  pains  me  more  than 
I  can  tell  you;"  and  she  soon  grew  so  white  and  faint  that 
Mrs.  Burleigh  made  her  take  a  glass  of  wine. 

"Death  seems  such  a  terrible  thiDg  in  a  young,  strong 
man,"  she  added,  shudderingly,  after  a  moment,  and  she 
pressed  her  hands  against  her  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  a  vision 
from  which  she  shrank.  "May  he  not  still  be  in  danger 
from  this  ruffian's  revenge?"  she  asked,  looking  up  in 
sudden  alarm. 

"I'm  afraid  that  he  will  be,"  said  Mrs.  Burleigh,  catch- 


230  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

ing  the  infection  of  her  fears.  "I  will  have  Mr.  Burleigh 
see  that  he  is  kept  away  from  the  place. ' ' 

Soon  after,  as  Miss  Burton  was  passing  through  the  main 
hallway,  she  met  the  artist,  and  stepping  into  one  of  the 
small  parlors  that  was  unoccupied,  she  said: 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  wish  to  speak  with  you.  I  wish  both 
to  thank  you,  and  to  ask  a  favor." 

"Please  do  the  latter  only,"  he  replied,  smiling. 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,"  she  resumed,  looking  into  his  face  with 
an  expression  that  made  his  heart  beat  more  quickly,  "your 
life  was  endangered  on  my  account  this  afternoon." 

"That's  a  pleasant  thought  to  me,"  he  said,  taking  her 
hand;  "that  is,  if  you  are  not  offended  that  I  presumed  to  be 
your  knight." 

"It  is  a  dreadful  thought  to  me,"  she  answered,  ear- 
nestly; then  in  a  strange  and  excited  manner  she  added: 
"You  cannot  know — death  to  some  is  a  horrible  thing — it 
prevents  so  much — I've  known — let  it  come  to  the  old  and 
sad — I  could  welcome  it— but  to  such  as  you— -O,  merciful 
Heaven!  Grant  me,  please  grant  me,  the  favor  I  would 
ask,"  she  continued,  clinging  to  his  hand.  "They  say  this 
man  Sibley  is  very  passionate  and  revengeful.  He  may  still 
try  to  carry  out  his  dreadful  purpose.  Please  shun  him, 
please  avoid  him — in  mercy  do.  I've  more  than  I  can  bear 
now;  and  if — if — "  and  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"And  can  my  poor  life  be  of  such  value  to  you,  Miss 
Burton?"  he  asked,  in  a  deep  low  tone. 

"Ah!  you  cannot  understand,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden 
and  passionate  gesture,  "and  I  entreat  you  not  to  ask  me  to 
explain.  From  the  first  you  have  been  kind  to  me.  I  have 
felt  from  the  day  we  met  that  I  had  found  a  friend  in  you; 
and  your  risk,  your  care  for  me  to-day,  gives  you  a  peculiar 
claim  as  a  friend,  but  in  mercy  do  not  ask  me  to  explain 
why  I  am  so  urgent  in  my  request.  I  cannot,  indeed  I  can- 
not—at least  not  now,  in  this  place.  Something  happened — 
Sudden  death  in  one  young,  strong,  and  full  of  hope,  like 
you,  seems  to  me  horrible — horrible.     In  mercy  promise  to 


THE  DELIBERATE   WOOER  SPEAKS  FIRST  231 

incur  no  risk  on  my  account,"  she  said  passionately,  and 

almost  wildly. 

"My  poor  little  friend,  how  needlessly  frightened  you 
are!"  he  said,  soothingly  and  gently.  "There,  I  will  prom- 
ise you  anything  that  a  man  of  honor  can.  But  a  word 
against  you,  Jennie  Burton,  touches  me  close,  very  close. 
As  said  the  Earl  of  Kent,  'It  invades  the  region  of  my 

heart.'  " 

She  looked  up  swiftly  and  questioningly,  and  then  a 
sudden  crimson  suffused  her  face.  With  a  strong  and  un- 
controllable  instinct  she  appeared  to  shrink  from  him. 

11  Kent  served  one  who  had  lost  the  power  to  make  re- 
turn," she  said,  shaking  her  head  sadly  as  she  turned  away. 
*  "Let  me  reply  with  Kent  again,"  he  earnestly  responded. 
11  lYou  have  that  in  your  countenance'— in  your  character— 
'which  I  would  fain  call  master5;  and  I  am  mastered,  nor 
can  I  be  shaken  from  my  allegiance.  I  can  at  least  imitate 
Kent's  faithfulness,  if  not  his  obtrusiveness,  in  the  service 
of  his  king.  You  have  already  claimed  me  as  a  friend,  and 
so  much  at  least  I  shall  ever  be.    Let  me  win  more  if  I  can." 

She  became  very  quiet  now,  and  looked  steadily  into  his 
flushed,  eager  face  with  an  expression  of  sorrowful  regret 
and  pain  that  would  have  restrained  him  had  a  tenfold 
stronger  and  more  impetuous  love  been  seeking  utterance, 
and  by  a  gesture,  simple  yet  eloquently  impressive,  she  put 
her  finger  to  her  lips.  Then  giving  him  her  hand  she  said, 
with  strong  emphasis: 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  would  value  such  &friend  as  you  could 
be  to  me  more  than  I  can  tell  you. " 

"I  shall  be  to  you  all  that  you  will  permit,"  he  said, 
gently  yet  firmly.  "As  you  now  appear  I  could  as  soon 
think  of  urging  my  clamorous  human  love  on  a  sad-eyed 
saint  that  had  suffered  some  cruel  form  of  martyrdom  for 
her  faith,  and  then,  as  the  legends  teach,  had  been  sent 
from  heaven  among  us  mortals  upon  some  errand  of  mercy." 

"Your  words  are  truer  than  you  think,"  she  replied,  the 
pallor  deepening  in  her  face.     4;I  have  suffered  a  strange, 


232  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

cruel  form  of  martyrdom.  But  I  am  not  a  saint,  only  a 
weak  woman.  I  would  value  such  a  friend  as  you  could 
be  exceedingly.  Indeed — indeed,"  she  continued  hesitat- 
ingly, "there  are  peculiar  reasons  why  I  wish  we  might 
meet  as  friends  occasionally.  If  you  knew — if  you  knew 
all — you  would  not  ask  to  be  more.  Can  you  trust  one 
who  is  clouded  by  sadness  and  mystery?" 

He  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his  and  answered:  ' 'Jennie 
Burton,  there  could  be  no  greater  misfortune  befall  me  than 
to  lose  my  faith  in  you.  I  associate  you  with  all  that  is  most 
sacred  to  me.  Every  instinct  of  my  heart  assures  me  that 
although  the  mystery  that  enshrouds  your  life  may  be  as 
cold  as  death,  it  is,  as  far  as  you  are  concerned,  as  white 
as  snow." 

44  Yes,  and  as  far  as  another  is  concerned  also,"  she  said 
solemnly.  "Your  trust  is  generous,  and  I  am  very,  very 
grateful.  Perhaps — possibly  I  may — some  time — tell  you, 
for  you  risked  your  life  for  me;  and — and — there  is  another 
reason.     But  I  have  never  spoken  of  it  yet     Goodnight." 

"Stay,"  he  said,  "I  cannot  begin  being  a  true  friend  to 
you  by  being  a  false  friend  to  another.  I  am  ashamed  that 
I  have  been  so  preoccupied  with  myself  that  I  have  not 
spoken  of  it  before.  Mr.  Stanton  resented  Sibley's  insult- 
ing language  more  promptly  than  I  did.  I  have  been  basely 
accepting  a  gratitude  that  rightly  belongs  to  him,  and  I  as- 
sure you  he  is  in  far  more  danger  from  Sibley  than  I 
am." 

Her  brow  contracted  in  a  sudden  frown,  and  there  was 
something  like  irritation  in  her  tones  as  she  said: 

"Danger  again!  and  to  another,  for  my  sake!  Must  I  be 
tortured  with  fear  and  anxiety  because  a  low  fellow,  true  to  his 
nature,  will  be  scurrilous?  Mr.  Van  Berg,"  she  continued, 
with  a  sudden  flash  of  her  eyes,  "are  you  and  Mr.  Stanton 
quarrelling  with  Mr.  Sibley  on  your  own  account,  or  on 
mine  ?  From  henceforth  I  refuse  to  have  the  remotest  rela- 
tion to  such  a  quarrel.  No  remarks  of  a  man  like  Sibley 
can  insult  me,  and  hereafter  any  friend  of  mine  who  lowers 


THE   DELIBERATE    WOOER  SPEAKS  FIRST  233 

himself  to  resent  them,  or  has  aught  to  do  with  the  fellow, 
will  both  wound  and  humiliate  me." 

4 'After  such  words,  Miss  Burton,"  Van  Berg  answered 
with  a  smile,  "rest  assured  I  shall  avoid  him  as  I  would  a 
pestilence.  But  remember,  I  have  been  as  guilty  as  Stan- 
ton, yes,  more  so;  for  Stanton  received  the  first  provoca- 
tion, and  he  is  naturally  more  impetuous  than  I  am.  But 
I  have  been  thanked,  as  well  as  warned  and  justly  rebuked. 
I  think,"  he  added,  as  if  the  words  cost  him  an  effort,  "that 
if  you  will  kindly  ask  Stanton  to  have  nothing  more  to  do 
with  Sibley,  he  will  accede  to  your  wishes;  and  whatever 
he  promises,  he  will  perform." 

lkIs  your  friend,  then,  so  honorable  a  man?"  she 
asked. 

"He  is,  indeed,"  replied  Van  Berg,  earnestly,  while  a 
generous  flush  suffused  his  face,  "a  true,  noble-hearted 
fellow.  He  shows  his  worst  side  at  once,  but  you  would 
discover  new  and  good  traits  in  him  every  day." 

She  turned  away  with  a  low  laugh.  "Since  you  are  so 
loyal  to  your  old  friend,"  she  said,  "I  think  you  will  prove 
true  to  your  new  one.  I  shall  put  Mr.  Stanton  to  the  test, 
and  discover  whether  he  will  give  up  his  quarrel  with  Mr. 
Sibley  for  the  sake  of  such  poor  thanks  as  I  can  give. 
Once  more,  good-night." 

She  was  hastening  away,  when  he  seized  her  hand  and 
said: 

"Why  do  you  go  with  averted  face?  Have  I  offended 
you?" 

She  trembled  violently.  "Please  do  not  look  at  me  so," 
she  said,  falteringly.  "I  cannot  endure  it.  Pity  my  weak- 
ness." 

His  hand  tightened  in  its  warm  grasp,  and  the  expression 
of  his  face  grew  more  ardent. 

She  looked  up  with  a  sudden  flash  in  her  eyes,  and  said, 
almost  sternly: 

"You  must  not  look  at  me  in  that  way,  or  else  even 
friendship  will  be  impossible  and  we  must  become  strangers. 


234  A    FACE  ILLUMINED 

Perhaps,  after  all,   this  will  be  the  wisest  course  for  us 
both,"  she  added,  in  a  gentler  tone. 

He  dropped  her  hand,  but  said  firmly:  "No,  Miss  Jen- 
nie, you  have  given  me  the  right  to  call  you  my  friend,  and 
I  have  seen  friendship  in  your  eyes,  and  friends  at  least 
we  shall  be  till  the  end  of  time.  I  shall  not  say  good-night. 
I  shall  not  let  you  go  away  and  brood  by  yourself.  I  have 
learned  that  cheering  others  is  the  very  elixir  of  your  life; 
so,  come  into  the  parlor.  1  will  find  Stanton  and  our 
friend  with  the  soprano  voice,  and  the  guests  of  the  house 
shall  again  bless  the  stars  that  sent  you  to  us,  as  I  do 
daily.0 

She  smiled  faintly  and  said: 

"I'll  join  you  there  after  a  little  while/'  ano  she  flitteu 
out  into  the  darkening  hallway,  and  sought  her  room  by 
a  side  stair. 

A  few  moments  later  Stanton,  finding  that  the  object  of 
his  thoughts  did  not  appear  among  the  guests  who  sought 
to  escape  the  sultriness  of  the  evening  on  the  wide  piazzas 
or  in  the  large,  spacious  parlor,  began  to  wander  restlessly 
about  in  a  half- unconscious  search.  A  servant  was  just 
lighting  the  gas  in  the  small  and  remote  reception-room  as 
he  glanced  in.  The  apartment  was  empty,  and  no  echoes 
of  the  words  just  spoken  were  lingering. 

A  little  later  Miss  Burton  came  down  the  main  stairway 
ia   her  breezy,  cheery  manner,  and  his  jealous  fears  were 

quieted. 

He  joined  her  at  once,  saying  that  it  was  the  unanimous 
wish  that  she  should  give  them  some  music  again  that 
evening. 

She  would  join  with  him  and  others,  she  said;  and  her 
manner  was  so  perfectly  frank  and  cordial,  so  like  her  bear- 
ing toward  a  lady  friend  to  whom  she  next  spoke,  that  he 
fairly  groaned  in  despair  of  touching  a  heart  that  seemed 
to  overflow  with  kindness  toward  all. 

Van  Berg  soon  appeared,  but  Miss  Burton,  on  this  occa- 
sion, managed  that  the  singing  should   be  maintained  by 


THE  DELIBERATE   WOOER  SPEAKS  FIRST  235 

quite  a  large  group  about  the  piano,  and  on  account  of  the 
sultriness  of  the  evening  the  service  of  song  was  brief. 

While  Van  Berg  was  leading  a  hymn  that  had  been  asked 
for  by  one  of  the  guests,  Miss  Burton  found  the  opportunity 
of  saying:  "Mr.  Stanton,  I  wish  to  thank  you  for  your 
chivalric  defence  to-day  of  one  who  is  poor  and  orphaned. 
Mr.  Van  Berg  told  me  of  your  generous  and  friendly 
course.  Thus  far  I  can  believe  that  your  conduct  has 
been  inspired  by  the  truest  and  most  manly  impulses.  But 
if  in  any  way  you  again  have  aught  to  do  with  Mr.  Sibley, 
I  shall  feel  deeply  wounded  and  humiliated.  I  refuse  to  be 
associated  with  that  man,  even  in  the  remotest  degree. 
Your  delicate  sense  of  honor  will  teach  you  that  if  any 
further  trouble  grows  out  of  this  affair  no  effort  on  your 
part  can  separate  my  name  from  it.  The  world  rarely  dis- 
tinguishes between  a  gentlemanly  quarrel  and  a  vulgar 
brawl,  especially  where  one  of  the  parties  is  essentially 
vulgar.  As  a  gentleman  you  will  surely  shield  me  from 
any  such  associations." 

Stanton,  remembering  his  appointment  with  Sibley, 
bowed  low  to  hide  his  confusion. 

"I  would  gladly  shield  you  with  my  life  from  anything 
that  could  cause  you  pain,"  he  said,  earnestly. 

M I  do  not  make  any  such  vast  and  tragic  demands,"  she 
replied,  smilingly,  and  holding  out  her  hand;  "only  simple 
and  prosaic  self-control,  when  tipsy,  vulgar  men  act  accord- 
ing to  their  nature.     Good-night." 

He  was  about  to  kiss  her  hand,  when  she  gently  with 
drew  it,  remarking: 

4 'We  plain  people  of  New  England  are  not  descended 
from  the  Cavaliers,  remember." 

He  watched  until  in  despair  of  her  appearing  again  that 
evening,  and  then  strolled  out  into  the  night,  feeling  in  his 
despondency  that  no  star  in  the  summer  sky  was  more  un- 
attainable than  the  poor  and  orphaned  girl,  the  impress 
of  whose  warm  clasp  still  seemed  within  his  hand 


236  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

AN   EMBLEM 

FOR  some  time  Ida  Mayhew  neither  heeded  nor  heard 
the  choral  music  in  the  parlor  below,  but  at  last  a 
clearer,  louder  strain,  in  which  Van  Berg's  voice 
was  pre-eminent,  caught  her  attention  and  she  started  up 
end  listened  at  the  window. 

"He  is  singing  songs  of  Heaven  with  Jennie  Burton,  and 
I — can  there  be  any  worse  perdition  than  this?"  she  said  in 
a  low,  agonized  tone. 

As  if  by  a  sudden  impulse  she  quietly  unfastened  the 
door  that  led  to  her  father  and  mother's  room.  Perceiving 
that  her  mother  was  not  there,  she  stole  noiselessly  in,  and 
turned  up  the  lamp. 

Mr.  Mayhew  reclined  upon  a  lounge  in  the  deep  stupor 
of  intoxication,  his  dark  hair  streaked  with  gray  falling 
across  his  face  in  a  manner  that  made  it  peculiarly  ghastly 
and  repulsive. 

"This  is  my  work,"  she  groaned.  "Jennie  Burton  made 
a  noble-looking  man  of  him  last  evening.  I  have  made  him 
this."  She  writhed  and  wrung  her  hands  over  his  uncon- 
scious form,  appearing  as  might  one  of  Milton's  fallen 
angels  that  had  lost  Heaven  and  happiness  but  not  the 
primal  beauty  of  his  birthplace. 

"Well,"  she  exclaimed  with  the  sudden  recklessness 
which  was  one  of  her  characteristics,  "if  I  have  caused  your 
degradation  I  can  at  least  share  in  it;"  and  she  took  an 
opiate  that  she  knew  would  produce  speedy  and  almost  as 
deep  a  lethargy  as  that  which  paralyzed  her  father;  then 


AN  EMBLEM  237 

threw  herself,  dressed,  upon  her  couch,  and  did  not  waken 

until  late  the  following  day. 

Stanton  was  sorely  troubled  over  his  rash  promise  that 
he  would  meet  Sibley  at  daylight  on  Monday  morning. 
After  Miss  Burton's  words  he  felt  that  he  could  not  keep 
his  appointment,  and  yet  he  shrank  from  the  ridicule  he 
believed  Sibley  would  heap  upon  him.  His  perturbation 
was  so  great  that  he  hunted  up  Van  Berg  before  retiring, 
and  told  him  his  dilemma.  The  artist  greatly  relieved  his 
mind  by  saying: 

"I  think  we  both  have  had  a  lesson,  Stanton,  in  regard 
to  quarrelling  with  such  fellows  as  Sibley,  although  I  hardly 
see  how  we  could  have  acted  differently.  But  villains  are 
usually  cowards  after  their  passion  cools  and  they  become 
sober.  The  case  in  hand  is  no  exception.  Burleigh  tells 
me  he  has  just  learned  that  Sibley  took  a  late  boat  to  the 
city,  and  so  does  not  mean  to  keep  the  appointment  to- 
morrow. Therefore,  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  just,  old  fellow. 
Good-night." 

The  throbbing  pain  in  Ida's  head  was  so  great  when  she 
awoke  on  Monday  that  she  half  forgot  the  ache  in  her  heart. 
She  found  that  her  father  had  gone  to  the  city  and  that  the 
day  was  well  advanced.  Her  mother  sat  looking  at  her 
with  an  expression  in  which  anxiety  and  reproach  were 
equally  blended. 

The  unhappy  woman  had  learned  from  her  husband's 
habits  to  know  what  remedies  to  employ,  and  so  was  able 
gradually  to  relieve  her  daughter's  physical  distress;  but 
Ida's  weary  lassitude  and  reticence  were  proof  against  all 
her  questions  and  reproaches.  It  seemed  as  if  nothing  could 
rouse  or  sting  her  out  of  the  dull  apathy  into  which  she  had 
reacted  after  the  desperate  excitement  of  the  preceding  day. 
She  pleaded  illness,  and  stubbornly  refused  to  go  down  to 
dinner.  At  last  her  mother,  much  to  her  relief,  left  her 
to  herself,  and  went  out  to  drive  with  Stanton,  hoping  that 
she  might  hit  upon  some  plan  of  action  in  regard  to  the  two 
difficult  problems  presented  in  her  husband  and  daughter. 


288  A   FACE  ILLUMINED. 

Toward  evening  Ida  slowly  and  languidly  dressed  for 
supper,  and  then  sauntered  down  to  the  main  piazza  for  a 
little  fresh  air. 

The  poor  girl  did  not  exaggerate  the  shadow  that  had 
fallen  upon  her  through  her  association  with  Sibley,  and 
her  supposed  grief  and  resentment  at  his  treatment.  Two  or 
three  whom  she  met  bowed  coldly  and  distantly,  and  one 
passed  without  recognition.  Even  Jennie  Burton  had  been 
indignant  all  day  that  one  of  her  sex  could  be  infatuated 
with  such  a  fellow;  and  in  her  charitable  thoughts  she 
would  be  glad  to  explain  such  perversity  as  the  result  of 
a  disordered  and  uncurbed  fancy,  rather  than  of  a  depraved 

heart 

It  was  not  strange,  however,  that  she  should  suppose 
Ida's  manner  and  indisposition  were  caused  by  Sibley's 
ignominious  ejectment  from  the  house,  when  her  own 
mother  and  cousin  shared  the  same  view. 

What  an  unknown  mystery  each  life  is,  even  to  the 
lives  nearest  to  it  I 

As  with  slow,  heavy  steps,  Ida  approached  the  main 
entrance,  she  noted  the  distant  manner  of  those  she  met, 
and  divined  the  cause;  but  her  apathy  was  so  great  that 
neither  anger  nor  shame  brought  the  faintest  color  to  her 
cheeks. 

She  stood  in  the  doorway  and  looked  out  a  few  mo- 
ments; but  the  lovely  summer  landscape,  with  the  cool 
shadows  lengthening  across  it,  was  a  weariness,  and  she 
turned  from  it  as  the  miserable  do  from  sights  that  only 
mock  by  their  pleasant  contrast. 

The  piazza  was  nearly  empty,  but  before  she  stepped 
Dut  upon  it  she  saw  not  far  away  a  gentleman  reading,  who 
at  last  did  cause  the  blood  to  rush  tumultously  into  her 

face. 

At  another  time  she  would  have  turned  hastily  from 
him;  but  in  her  present  morbid  mood  she  acted  from  a 
different  impulse.  The  artist  had  not  observed  her  ap- 
proach,   and  standing  a  little   back  in  the  shadow  of  the 


AN   EMBLEM  239 

hallway  she  found  a  cruel  fascination  in"  comparing  the 
man  she  loved  with  the  low  fellow  whose  shadow  now  fell 
so  darkly  across  her  own  character.  She  looked  steadily  at 
his  downcast  face  until  every  line  and  curve  in  his  strong 
profile  was  impressed  on  her  memory.  In  the  healthful 
color  of  his  finely-chiselled  features  there  were  no  indica- 
tions of  that  excess  which  already  marred  Sibley's  counte- 
nance. The  decided  contour  corresponded  with  the  positive 
nature.  The  unhappy  girl  felt  instinctively  that  if  he  were 
on  her  side,  he  would  be  a  faithful  ally;  but  if  against  her, 
she  would  find  his  inflexible  will  a  granite  wall  against  all 
the  allurements  of  her  beauty.  The  face  before  her  indi- 
cated a  man  controlled  by  his  higher,  not  lower  nature;  and 
in  her  deep  humiliation  she  now  felt  that  even  if  he  knew 
all  that  was  passing  in  her  heart,  he  would  bestow  only  a 
little  transient  pity,  mingled  with  contempt. 

She  believed  she  could  hope  for  nothing  from  him;  and 
yet,  did  not  that  belief  leave  her  hopeless  ?  To  what  else, 
to  whom  else  could  she  turn  ?  Nothing  else,  no  one  else 
then  seemed  to  promise  any  help,  any  happiness.  Her 
wretched  experience  had  come  as  unexpectedly  as  one  of 
those  mysterious  waves  that  sweep  the  sunny  shore  of  Peru. 
Whither  it  would  carry  her  she  did  not  know,  but  every 
moment  separated  her  more  hopelessly  from  him  who 
appeared  like   an  immovable   rock  in   his   quiet   strength. 

She  was  turning  despondently  away  when  she  heard 
Jennie  Burton's  voice,  and  a  moment  later  that  young 
lady  mounted  the   adjacent  steps  and  said  to   Van   Berg: 

"See  what  a  prize  I  captured  at  this  late  season.  Koses 
early  in  August  are  like  hidden  treasures.  See,  they  are 
genuine  hybrids.     Have  I  not  had  rare  good- fortune  ?" 

Van  Berg  rose  at  once,  and  met  her  at  the  top  of  the 
steps;  and  Ida,  who  still  remained  unseen  in  the  hall,  now 
stepped  forward  into  the  doorway,  so  that  she  might  not 
seem  a  furtive  listener,  as  he  was  standing  with  his  back 
toward  her. 

"Had  I  my  way,  Miss  Burton,"   said  the  artist,  "you 


240  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

should  have  this  rare  good- fortune  every  day  of  the 
year. ' ' 

She  blushed  slightly,  and  said,  rather  coldly,  "Good- 
evening,  Miss  May  hew,"  thus  rendering  Van  Berg  aware 
of  the  latter's  presence.  The  artist  only  frowned,  and  gave 
no  other  recognition  of  Ida's  proximity. 

"Since  you  can't  have  your  way,  I  shall  make  the 
most  of  my  present  good-fortune.  Is  not  that  a  beautiful 
cluster?" 

"It  is  indeed,  with  one  exception.  Do  you  not  see  that 
this  defective  bud  mars  the  beauty  of  all  the  others  ?" 

"A  'worm  i'  the  bud  fed  on  its  damask  cheek.'  I  took 
it  out  and  killed  it,  and  was  in  hopes  that  if  I  placed  the 
injured  flower  in  water  with  the  others  it  might  still  make 
a  partial  bloom.  You  will  think  me  absurd  when  I  tell  you 
I  felt  sorry  for  it,  and  thought  how  many  roses  and  lives 
would  be  more  perfect  were  it  not  for  some  gnawing  'worm 
i'  the  bud.'  " 

"The  'worm'  in  Shakespeare's  allusion,"  said  the  artist, 
lightly,  "is  redeemed  by  its  association  and  symbolism;  but 
the  one  that  has  been  at  work  here  was  a  disagreeably  pro- 
saic thing  that  you  rightly  put  your  foot  upon.  The  bud, 
as  it  now  appears,  suggests  the  worm  more  than  anything 
else.  So,  please  let  me  cut  it  out;  for  art  cannot  tolerate 
anything  so  radically  marred  and  defective.  Its  worm-eaten 
heart  spoils  the  beauty  of  the  entire  cluster." 

"I  fear  you  artists  become  too  critical  and  exacting. 
Well,  cut  it  out.  I  will  submit  to  art  in  roses,  but  feel -that 
marred  and  defective  lives  should  have  very  different  treat- 
ment." 

"That  depends.  If  people  persist  in  cherishing  some 
worm  of  evil,  they  cannot  expect  to  be  held  in  the  same 
esteem  as  those  who  are  aiming  at  a  more  perfect  develop- 
ment. There,  now!  does  not  your  cluster  appear  much 
better?" 

"Yes;  and  yet  I  cannot  help  feeling  sorry  for  the  poor 
little  bud  that  has  missed  its  one  chance  to  bloom,  and  all 


AN   EMBLEM  241 

will  wither  unless   I   hasten  to  my  room  and  put  them  in 
water. ' ' 

In  her  prejudice  against  Ida  she  had  not  looked  toward 
her  while  talking  with  Van  Berg,  but  in  passing,  a  hasty 
glance  almost  caused  her  to  stay  and  speak  to  her,  for  she 
thought  she  saw  her  eyes  full  of  unshed  tears.  But  her 
glance  was  brief  and  her  prejudice  strong.  Miss  Burton 
had  not  a  little  of  the  wholesome  feminine  intolerance  for 
certain  weaknesses  in  her  sex.  She  would  counsel  a  wife  to 
endure  a  bad  husband  with  a  meek  and  patient  spirit.  But 
gentle  as  she  was,  she  would  scorn  the  maiden  who  could 
be  attracted  by  a  corrupt  man,  and  almost  loathe  her  for 
indulging  such  an  affinity.  She  could  pity  Ida— she  could 
pity  any  one;  but  the  poor  girl's  unfortunate  association 
with  Sibley,  and  her  seeming  interest  in  him,  would  subor- 
dinate pity  to  indignation  and  contempt.  Her  thought  was 
this: 

"Miss  Mayhew  is  still  a  maiden  free  to  choose.  Shame 
on  her  that  she  chooses  so  ignobly!  Shame  on  her  that  she 
turns  her  eyes  longingly  to  fetid  pools,  instead  of  upward 
to  the  breezy  hills.  What  kind  of  a  nature  is  that  which 
prompts  such  a  choice  ?' ' 

The  artist  was  more  capable  of  Jennie  Burton's  indigna- 
tion and  contempt  than  of  her  pity;  and  although  he  knew 
Ida  still  stood  in  the  doorway  he  did  not  turn  to  speak  to 
her.  His  very  attitude  seemed  to  indicate  to  the  unhappy 
girl  a  haughty  indifference,  and  yet  she  was  so  unhappy,  so 
in  need  of  a  kind  word  or  reassuring  glance,  that  she  could 
not  turn  away. 

"What  a  wretched  mystery  it  all  is,"  she  thought.  "I 
ought  to  hate,  yet  I  love  him.  Proud  as  I  have  thought 
myself,  I  could  kneel  at  his  feet  for  one  such  word  and 
glance  as  he  just  gave  Miss  Burton.  For  contempt  I  return 
him  honor  and  admiration.  I  cannot  help  myself.  By  some 
strange  perversity  of  my  heart,  I  have  become  his  very 
slave.  How  can  he  be  so  blind!  He  thinks  me  pining 
for  a  man  that  I  despise  and  hate  more  than  he  ever  can, 
—         —  11— Roe— xir 


242  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

though  the  fellow  attempted  his  life.  Sibley  has  come  be- 
tween me  and  that  which  is  more  than  life — my  chance  for 
happiness  and  right  living.  I  shall  become  desperate  and 
bad,  like  him,  if  this  continues.  How  strange  it  is  that 
some  sense,  some  instinct  does  not  tell  him  there  that  the 
girl  who  stands  so  near  is  lavishing  every  treasure  of  her 
soul  upon  him! 

"That  poor  little  rosebud  represents  me  to  his  mind. 
How  ruthlessly  he  is  pulling  open  its  heart!  Will  he  see 
anything  else  there  save  the  work  of  the  destroyer?  Can 
it  not  awaken  a  thought  of  pity  ?  I  will — I  must  speak 
to  him." 

She  took  a  hesitating  step  or  two  toward  him.  She 
could  almost  hear  her  heart  beat.  Twice,  thrice,  words 
died  upon  her  lips.  When  was  she  ever  so  timid  before! 
If  he  would  only  give  her  an  encouraging  glance!  If  he 
would  only  turn  a  little  toward  her  and  relax  that  haughty, 
unbending  attitude — 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  voice  that  was 
constrained  and  hard  from  her  effort  to  be  calm,  "you  seem 
very  vindictive  toward  that  poor  little  flower." 

He  turned  partially  toward  her  and  coldly  said,  "Good- 
evening,  Miss  Mayhew";  then,  after  a  second,  added  care- 
lessly: "I  admit  that  this  worm-eaten  bud  is  rather  vexa- 
tious. It  has — what  is  left  of  it — exquisite  color,  and  in 
form  nature  had  designed  it  to  be  perfect;  but"  (with  a 
slight  contemptuous  shrug)  "you  see  what  it  is,"  and  he 
tossed  it  down  into  the  roadway. 

Her  face  was  very  pale  and  her  voice  low,  as  she  an- 
swered: "And  so  you  condemn  it  to  be  trampled  under 
foot." 

"I  condemn  it!  Not  at  all.  Its  own  imperfection  con- 
demns it. ' ' 

"The  result  is  all  the  same,"  she  replied,  with  sudden 
change  of  manner.  ltIt  is  tossed  contemptuously  away  to 
be  trodden  under  foot.  Dull  and  ignorant  as  you  discov- 
ered me  to  be,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  am  not  so  stupid  but  that  I 


AN   EMBLEM  243 

can  understand  you  this  evening.  Imperfect  as  I  am,  I  could 
pity  that  unfortunate  flower  whose  fragrance  rose  to  you  like 
a  low  appeal  for  a  little  consideration,  at  least.  Would  it 
not  have  bloomed  as  perfectly  as  the  others  if  the  worm  had 
let  it  alone  ?  But,  I  suppose,  with  artists,  if  roses  or  hu- 
man lives  are  imperfect,  that  is  the  end  of  them.  Misfor- 
tune counts  for  nothing." 

Van  Berg  listened  in  surprise  to  these  words,  and  his 
haughty  complacency  was  decidedly  disturbed.  He  was 
about  to  reply  that  "Evil  chosen  and  cherished  was  not  a 
misfortune  but  a  fault,"  when  she  turned  from  him  with 
more  than  her  former  coldness  and  entered  the  house. 

An  impulse  that  he  would  have  found  difficult  to  analyze 
led  him  to  descend  the  steps  and  pick  up  the  symbolic  bud, 
now  torn  and  withering  fast,  and  to  place  it  between  the 
leaves  of  his  note-book. 

If  she  had  only  seen  this  act  it  would  have  made  a  great 
difference;  but,  ever  present  to  her  thought,  it  lay  where  he 
had  tossed  it,  the  emblem  of  herself. 


244  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

THE    DANGERS   OF   DESPAIR 

DISCOURAGEMENT  and  despair  are  dangerous  and 
often  destructive  to  character.  This  would  be  es- 
pecially true  of  one  like  Ida  Mayhew;  for  even  in 
her  imperfection  she  possessed  a  simplicity  and  unity  which 
made  it  impossible  for  a  part  of  such  moral  nature  as  she 
possessed  to  stand,  if  another  part  were  undermined  or 
broken  down.  The  whole  fabric  would  stand  or  fall  to- 
gether. 

She  had  been  a  wayward  child,  more  neglected  than 
petted,  and  had  naturally  developed  a  passion  for  having 
her  own  will,  right  or  wrong.  As  she  grew  older,  her  ex- 
traordinary dower  of  beauty  threatened  to  be  a  fatal  one. 
It  brought  to  her  attention  continuous  admiration  and  flat- 
tery  from  those  who  cared  nothing  for  her  personally.  She 
had  received  in  childhood  but  little  of  the  praise  which  love 
prompts,  the  tender,  indulgent  idolatry  which,  although 
dangerous  indeed  to  one's  best  development,  sometimes 
softens  and  humanizes,  instead  of  rendering  selfish  and 
arrogant. 

Mrs.  Mayhew  petted  and  scolded  her  child  according  to 
her  mood,  but  was  quite  consistent  in  her  general  neglect. 
Mr.  Mayhew  was  a  tired,  busy  man,  who  visited  at  his  own 
home  rather  than  lived  there.  Thus  the  growing  girl  was 
left  chiefly  to  her  own  impulses,  and  average  human  nature 
ensured  that  the  habit  of  thinking  of  herself  first  and  of 
pleasing  herself  at  all  times  should  be  early  formed.  Then, 
as  she  saw  and  became  capable  of  understanding  the  homage 


THE   DANGERS    OF   DESPAIR  245 

that  waits  on  mere  beauty,  the  world  over,  pride  and  van- 
ity grew  in  overshadowing  rankness.  The  attention  she  re- 
ceived, however,  was  chiefly  made  up  of  the  bold  stare  of 
strangers,  and  the  open  flattery  of  those  who  admired  her 
beauty  as  they  would  that  of  a  picture,  unconsciously  but 
correctly  leaving  the  impression  that  they  cared  for  her 
only  because  of  her  beauty.  That  the  girl's  nature  should 
grow  hard  and  callous  under  such  influences  was  what  might 
have  been  expected. 

Neglect  and  a  miserable  sham  of  an  education  had  dwarfed 
her  mind.  She  had  been  "finished"  by  an  ultra  fashionable 
school  before  she  understood  the  meaning  of  the  studies 
which  she  passed  over  in  a  dainty  quickstep,  scarcely  touch- 
ing the  surface. 

Her  heart  and  moral  nature  were  almost  equally  unde- 
veloped. Hitherto  she  had  known  but  little  experience 
tending  to  evoke  gentle  feeling  or  generous  action.  She 
had  confounded  the  few  genuine  admirers,  who,  infatuated 
with  her  beauty,  endowed  her  with  all  heavenly  graces, 
awaiting  only  the  awakening  hand  of  their  love,  with  the 
heartless  or  brainless  fellows  who  were  not  particular  about 
heavenly  graces,  provided  a  girl  had  a  fine  figure  and  a  fair 

face. 

When  the  artist  first  met  her  at  the  concert  garden,  she 
was  in  truth  a  modern  Undine.  She  had  feminine  qualities 
and  vices,  but  not  a  woman's  soul.  She  was  not  capable  of 
any  strong,  womanly  action  or  feeling.  Her  scheme  of  life 
was  simple  indeed,  although  she  was  learning  to  be  very  art- 
ful in  carrying  it  out.  It  was  to  have  "a  good  time,"  as  she 
would  phrase  it,  and  at  any  and  every  cost  to  others.  After 
wearying  of  the  life  of  a  belle,  she  proposed  to  marry  the 
best  establishment  that  came  in  her  way,  and  become  a 
leader  of  fashion. 

It  would  seem  that  not  a  few  fine  ladies  carry  out  this 
simple  scheme  of  life,  and  never  receive  a  woman's  soul. 
There  are  Undines  at  sixty  as  well  as  at  sixteen. 

The  artist  had  been   attracted  by  her  beauty,  like  so 


246  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

many  others,  but  unlike  others  he  had  not  (as  was  the 
case  with  not  a  few  sensible  men)  given  an  admiring  glance 
at  the  face,  and  then,  recognizing  the  fact  that  there  was 
not  a  woman  back  of  it,  passed  on  indifferently ;  nor  had  he 
bestowed  upon  her  imaginary  virtues;  and  much  less  had 
he  been  satisfied  with  mere  flesh  and  blood. 

His  manner  had  been  exploring,  questioning.  He  was 
looking  for  her  woman's  soul,  even  though  he  might  find  it 
unawakened,  like  the  fabled  beauty  in  the  mythical 
castle. 

His  keen  eyes  had  disturbed  her  equanimity  from  the 
first.  As  he  pursued  his  quest,  her  undefined  fears  and 
misgivings  increased.  At  last  she  was  compelled  to  fol- 
low his  questioning  glances,  and  look  past  outward  beauty 
to  her  real  self  within.  From  that  hour  the  rank  and  evil 
weeds  of  pride  and  vanity  began  to  wither.  Honest  self- 
scrutiny  was  like  a  knife  at  their  roots. 

But  these  traits  give  a  transient  support  like  a  false 
stimulant.  As  they  failed  there  was  nothing  to  take  their 
place— no  faith  in  God,  no  self-respect  or  self-reliance.  She 
could  not  turn  to  her  own  family  for  sustaining  sympathy, 
such  as  many  find  in  their  homes,  and  which  is  all  the 
more  grateful  because  not  inquisitive  nor  expressed  in  for- 
mal terms.  In  her  selfish  pleasure-seeking  life  she  found 
that  she  had  made  an  endless  number  of  acquaintances,  but 
no  friends.  She  had  not  even  the  resource  of  a  cultivated 
mind  that  could  exist  upon  its  own  stores  through  this  sud- 
den famine  which  had  impoverished  her  world,  nor  could 
she  think  of  a  single  innocent,  attractive  pursuit  by  which 
she  could  fill  the  weary  days.  She  was  like  a  child  that 
had  dwelt  in  a  tropical  oasis,  the  flowers  and  fruits  of  which 
had  seemed  as  limitless  as  its  extent.  She  had  supposed 
that  the  whole  world  would  be  like  this  oasis,  and  the  only 
necessity  ever  imposed  on  her  would  be  that  of  choice  from 
its  rich  profusion.  But  ere  she  was  aware  she  had  lost  her- 
self in  a  desert;  the  oasis  had  vanished  like  a  mirage,  and 
she  had  no  choice  at  all.     That  which  her  heart  craved  with 


TEE    DANGERS    OF    DESPAIR  247 

an  intensity  which  fairly  made  it  ache,  seemed  as  hopeless 
as  a  sudden  bloom  and  fruitage  from  arid  sands. 

Instead  of  going  down  to  supper  she  returned  to  the  soli- 
tude of  her  own  room,  but  the  apathy  of  the  earlier  part  of 
the  day  had  vanished  utterly.  Indeed,  body  and  soul  seemed 
to  quiver  with  pain  like  a  wounded  nerve.  Anger,  which 
had  given  a  brief  support,  faded  out,  and  left  only  shame 
and  despair  as  in  memory  she  saw  the  emblem,  representing 
herself,  tossed  contemptuously  into  the  carriage-way  by  the 
man  she  loved. 

44I  remember  reading,"  she  groaned,  "when  at  school, 
how  conquerors  put  their  feet  on  the  necks  of  their  captives. 
He  has  put  his  spurning  foot  on  my  heart.  Oh,  hateful  rid- 
dle!    Why  should  I  love  the  man  that  despises  me  ?" 

Her  mother,  and  then  Stanton,  called  at  her  door  and 
asked  her  to  come  down  to  supper. 

44 No,"  she  said,  briefly  to  each. 

44  If  you  knew  what  people  were  saying  and  surmising 
you  would  not  continue  to  make  a  spectacle  of  yourself," 
said  her  cousin,  through  the  closed  door. 

4 'That  is  one  reason  why  I  do  not  come  down,"  she  re- 
plied. "I'm  not  in  the  mood  to  make  a  spectacle  of  my- 
self. I  have  been  shown  how  one  perfect  member  of  so- 
ciety regards  me,  and  I  am  not  equal  to  meeting  any  more 
faultless  people  to-night." 

44 Oh,  nonsense!"  cried  Stanton,  irritably.  44You  must 
come  down." 

44 Break  in  the  door  then,  and  carry  me  down,"  was  the 
sharp  reply. 

With  a  muttered  oath  he  descended  to  the  supper-room, 
and  his  moody  and  absent  manner  revealed  to  Mrs.  May- 
hew  and  Van  Berg  that  his  interview  with  his  cousin  had 
been  anything  but  satisfactory. 

For  a  time  the  artist  seemed  rather  distrait  also,  as  if  a 
memory  were  troubling  him.  He  often  looked  around  when 
any  one  entered,  and  his  eyes  at  times  rested  on  Ida's  vacant 
chair.     But  he  soon  passed  under  the  spell  of  Jennie  Bur- 


248  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

ton's  genial  talk,  which  seemingly  glowed  with  the  sun- 
shine that  had  enveloped  her  during  her  quest  of  the  roses, 
and  the  poor  girl,  who  was  fairly  quivering  with  pain  be- 
cause of  his  significant  act  and  words  on  the  piazza,  was 
forgotten. 

She  knew  she  was  forgotten.  The  hum  of  voices,  the 
cheerful  clatter  from  the  lighted  supper-room,  came  up  to 
her  darkening  apartment,  and  only  increased  her  sense  of 
loneliness  and  isolation.  Her  quick  ear  caught  Van  Berg's 
mellow  laugh,  evoked  by  one  of  Miss  Burton's  sallies. 

It  is  a  dreary  sensation  to  find  one's  self  wholly  forgotten 
by  mere  acquaintances;  but  to  find  that  we  have  no  place  in 
the  thoughts  of  those  we  love  seems  in  a  certain  sense  like 
being  annihilated.  But  for  poor  Ida  was  reserved  a  deeper 
suffering  still,  since  she  believed  that  the  man  she  loved  did 
not  dismiss  her  from  his  mind  indifferently,  but  rather  with 
aversion  and  disgust. 

She  felt  her  isolation  terribly.  To  whom  could  she  turn 
in  her  trouble  ?  The  thought  of  her  father  was  both  a  re- 
proach and  a  humiliation.  He  was  drifting  hopelessly,  and 
almost  unresistingly,  toward  final  wreck,  and,  so  far  from 
seeking  to  restrain,  she  had  added  to  the  evil  impetus.  She 
shrank  from  the  very  idea  of  confiding  in  her  garrulous,  su- 
perficial mother.  She  felt  that  her  cousin  detested  as  well 
as  despised  her.  The  flattered  girl,  who  a  little  before 
thought  the  world  was  at  her  feet,  now  felt  friendless  and 
alone,  scarcely  tolerated  by  her  own  family  and  scorned  by 
others. 

Of  course  she  exaggerated  the  evil  of  her  lot.  The  young 
and  inexperienced  are  ever  prone  to  look,  for  the  time,  on 
the  earlier  misfortunes  of  their  lives  as  irretrievable.  In 
after  years  they  may  smile  at  their  causeless  despair;  but 
the  world  is  full  of  tragedies  that  to  the  wise  and  sober- 
minded  had  slight  cause. 

Ida's  troubles,  however,  were  scarcely  slight,  and  she, 
above  all  others,  was  the  least  fitted  to  bear  trouble  and 
thwarting.     To  be  refused  anything  would  be  a  new  and 


THE    DANGERS    OF   DESPAIR  249 

disagreeable  experience,  but  to  be  denied  that  which  her 
heart  craved  supremely,  tended  to  call  out  all  the  passion- 
ate recklessness  of  her  ungoverned,  undisciplined  nature. 
The  child  from  whom  something  is  taken  will  often  cast 
away  in  anger  all  that  is  offered  in  its  place;  and  in  like 
hasty  folly  many  a  man  and  woman,  to  their  eternal  regret, 
have  thrown  away  life  itself.  Suicide  is  often  the  product 
of  passion  as  well  as  of  despair;  the  irritable,  headlong  pro- 
test against  evils  that  might  have  been  and  should  have  been 
remedied. 

As  Ida  sat  alone  in  her  desolation  and  shame,  the  thought 
of  self-destruction  had  surged  up  in  the  lava  of  other  tumul- 
tuous thoughts  occasioned  by  the  artist's  scorn,  and  at  flrs-t 
she  had  shrunk  from  it  with  natural  and  instinctive  dread. 
But  the  awful  thought  began  to  fascinate  her  like  a  dizzy 
height  from  which  it  seems  so  easy  to  fall  and  end  every- 
thing. 

In  her  morbid  condition  and  to  her  poisoned  imagination 
the  act  did  not  appear  so  revolting  after  all.  She  had  been 
made  familiar  with  it  in  her  favorite  novels.  She  had  often 
seen  it  simulated  with  applause  on  the  stage,  with  all  the 
melodramatic  accessories  with  which  it  is  sought  to  produce 
mere  effect.  Indeed,  from  her  education,  she  might  almost 
think  self-destruction  was  the  only  dignified  and  high-spir- 
ited thing  to  do. 

For  a  time  her  thoughts  took  the  coloring  of  high  tragedy. 
She  would  teach  this  proud  artist  a  lesson,  even  though  at 
supreme  cost  to  herself.  If  he  would  never  love  her,  she 
would  make  it  certain  that  he  could  no  longer  despise  her. 
She  would  write  him  a  letter  that  would  harrow  his  very 
soul,  informing  him  that  she  had  taken  his  hint  and  fol- 
lowed his  suggestion.  Since  he  had  thrown  away  the  em- 
blem of  herself  as  a  worthless  and  unsightly  thing,  she  had 
thrown  herself  away,  so  that  faultless  taste  and  faultless 
people  might  be  no  more  offended  by  the  presence  of  so 
much  imperfection. 

For  a  moment  her  eyes  glowed  with  exultation  over  his 


250  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

imagined  dismay  as  he  read  this  message  from  one  to  whom 
no  reparation  could  be  made;  and  then  better  and  more 
wholesome  feelings  resumed  their  sway.  Perverted,  mis- 
guided, and  uncounselled  as  she  was,  she  was  too  young, 
too  near  the  mother  heart  of  nature,  cot  to  react  from  the 
false  and  the  evil  toward  the  simple  and  the  true. 

She  threw  herself  upon  her  couch.  "Oh,  that  I  might 
live  and  be  happy!"  she  sobbed.  "If  in  the  place  of  the 
bitter  frost  of  his  words  and  manner  he  would  give  me  but 
one  ray  of  kindness,  I  would  try  to  bloom,  even  though  but 
a  poor  worm-eaten  bud." 

Frowns  blight  far  more  flowers  than  October  nights. 


''HOPE    DIES    HARD"  251 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 
"hope  dies  hard" 

WHEN  alone  with  his  friend  after  sapper,  Stanton 
broke  out,  "Since  Ida  can't  exist  without  the 
sight  of  that  wretch,  Sibley,  I  wish  she  would 
follow  him  to  New  York.  If  she  dotes  on  such  scum,  they 
had  better  be  married,  as  far  as  such  people  can  be,  and  so 
relieve  her  relatives  of  an  incubus  that  is  wellnigh  in- 
tolerable." 

"Are  you  absolutely  sure  that  she  does  dote  on  Sibley, 
and  that  he  is  the  cause  of  her  evident  trouble  ?"  asked  Van 
Berg,  with  a  perplexed  frown  lowering  on  his  brow. 

"I'm  not  sure  of  anything  concerning  her  save  that  she 
was  born  to  make  trouble.  I  know  she  was  with  him  all  the 
time  he  was  here,  and  since  he  was  metaphorically  kicked 
off  the  premises  she  has  sulked  in  her  room.  I  suppose,  of 
course,  that  she  is  mortified,  and  hates  to  meet  people. 
Indeed,  from  a  remark  she  made,  some  one  must  have 
snubbed  her  vigorously  to-day;  but  her  course  makes 
everything  a  hundred-fold  worse.  I  am  besmirched  be- 
cause of  my  relationship.  I  can  see  this  in  the  bearing 
of  more  than  one,  and  even  Miss  Burton,  who  could  not  be 
consciously  unkind  to  any  one,  keeps  me  at  a  distance  by 
barriers,  which,  although  seemingly  viewless,  are  so  real  I 
cannot  pass  them." 

Van  Berg  surmised  that  the  evasive  tact  which  Miss 
Burton  exercised  toward  his  friend  was  not  caused  by  his 
relationship  to  Ida,  and  yet  was  compelled  to  admit  that 
her  frank  and  friendly  bearing  toward  himself  was  scarcely 


252  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

less  dispiriting.  Her  manner,  as  a  rule,  was  so  plainly  that 
of  a  friend  only,  that  were  it  not  for  occasional  and  furtive 
glances  which  he  intercepted,  he  would  deem  his  prospects 
little  better  than  Stanton's,  in  spite  of  all  that  had  passed 
between  them.  Oven  in  these  stolen,  questioning,  longing 
glances,  there  was  an  element  that  troubled  and  perplexed 
him,  and  the  strange  thought  crossed  his  mind  that  when 
she  looked  most  intently  she  did  not  see  Harold  Van  Berg, 
but  an  intervening  vision.  Her  mystery,  however,  rendered 
her  only  the  more  attractive,  and  she  seemed  like  a  good 
angel  that  had  come  from  an  unknown  world  concerning 
which  she  could  not  speak,  and  perhaps  he  could  not 
understand. 

Her  society  was  like  a  delicate  wine,  delightfully  exhil- 
arating while  enjoyed,  but  whose  effect  is  transient.  He 
was  provoked  at  himself  to  find  how  well  he  endured  her 
absence,  and  how  content  he  was  with  the  genuine  friend- 
ship she  was  evidently  forming  for  him.  Sometimes  he  even 
longed  for  more  of  the  absorbing  passion  which  he  saw  had 
wholly  mastered  Stanton;  but  tried  to  satisfy  himself  by 
reasoning  that  his  love  was  in  accordance  with  his  nature, 
which  was  calm  and  constant,  rather  than  impulsive  and 
passionate. 

"All  the  higher  faculties  of  my  soul  are  her  allies,"  he 
thought,  complacently.  "I  admire,  honor,  and  even  rever- 
ence her.  She  could  walk  through  life  as  my  companion, 
my  equal,  and  in  many  respects,  my  superior;"  and  so  with 
all  the  delicate  and  unobtrusive  tact  of  which  he  was  the 
master  he  proposed  to  press  his  suit. 

Since  Jennie  Burton  had  plainly  intimated  that,  like 
King  Lear,  she  had  lost  her  woman's  kingdom — her  heart — 
and  so  was  not  able  to  reward  such  suit  and  service,  how 
came  it  she  kept  poor  Stanton  at  a  distance,  but  welcomed 
the  society  of  Van  Berg?  Possibly  her  intuition  recog- 
nized the  fact  that  in  the  case  of  Stanton  she  had  touched 
the  heart,  but  had  won  the  mind  only  of  the  artist  The 
first  seemed  disposed  to  give  all  and  to  demand  all.     Stan- 


VHOPE   DIES    HARDn  253 

ton's  all  did  not  count  for  very  much  thus  far  in  her  estima- 
tion. She  had  recognized  the  character  he  had  brought  to 
the  Lake  House — that  of  a  pleasure- loving  man  of  the 
world — and  she  was  far  too  modest  to  suppose  that  she 
could  work  any  material  change  in  this  character.  Self- 
indulgent  by  nature,  she  believed  that  he  had  proposed  to 
enjoy  a  summer  flirtation  with  one  whom  he  would  easily 
forget  in  the  autumn,  and,  while  this  impression  lasted,  she 
punished  him  by  requiring  that  he  should  be  the  chivalric 
attendant  of  every  forlorn  female  in  the  house.  When  she 
believed,  however,  that  such  heart  as  he  possessed  was 
truly  interested,  she  became  as  unapproachable  as  the  after- 
noon horizon,  whose  rich  glow  is  seemingly  near,  but  can 
never  be  reached.  While  she  recognized  the  genuineness  of 
his  passion,  he  did  not,  as  before  intimated,  regard  it  as 
a  very  serious  affair. 

"Good  dinners  and  fairer  faces  than  mine  will  comfort 
him  before  Christmas,"  she  thought. 

Few  know  themselves — their  own  capabilities  of  joy, 
suffering,  or  achievement.  As  with  Ida,  Stanton  was  at 
a  loss  to  understand  the  changes  in  his  own  character. 
It  was  quite  possible,  therefore,  that  Miss  Burton  should 
misunderstand  him.  Indeed  he  had,  as  yet,  but  little  place 
in  her  sad  and  preoccupied  thoughts. 

For  some  reason,  however,  Van  Berg's  society  had  for 
her  a  peculiar  fascination  that  she  could  not  resist.  She 
scarcely  knew  whether  she  derived  from  it  more  of  pleasure 
than  of  pain.     She  often  asked  herself  this  question: 

"Which  were  better  for  a  traveller  in  the  desert — to  see 
a  mirage,  or  the  sands  only  in  all  their  barren  reality?" 

Her  judgment  said,  the  latter;  but  when  the  elusive 
mirage  appeared,  she  looked  often  with  a  longing  wistful- 
ness  that  might  well  suggest  a  pilgrim  that  was  athirst  and 
famishing. 

In  spite  of  her  quickness,  Van  Berg  occasionally  caught 
something  of  this  expression,  and  while  he  drew  encourage- 
ment from  it,  he  was  too  free  from  vanity  and  too  acute  an 


254  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

observer  to  conclude  that  all  would  result  as  he  hoped. 
The  unwelcome  thought  would  come  that  he  was  only  the 
occasion  and  not  the  cause  of  these  furtive  glances.  Was 
her  heart  already  wedded  to  a  memory,  and  was  she  inter- 
ested in  him  chiefly  because  for  some  reason  he  gave  vivid- 
ness and  reality  to  that  memory  ?  If  this  were  true,  what 
more  had  he  to  hope  for  than  Stanton?  If  this  were  true, 
was  he  not  in  a  certain  sense  pursuing  a  shadow?  Would 
success  be  success?  Would  he  wish  to  clasp,  as  his  wife, 
a  woman  whose  heart  had  been  buried  in  a  sepulchre  from 
which  the  stone  might  never  be  rolled  away  ? 

His  first  impression,  that  Miss  Burton  had  passed  through 
some  experience,  some  ordeal  of  suffering  that  separated 
her  from  ordinary  humanity,  often  reasserted  itself  more 
strongly  than  ever.  At  times  her  flame-like  spirit  would 
flash  up  with  a  glow  and  brilliancy  that  lighted  and  warmed 
his  very  soul,  bat  the  feeling  began  to  grow  upon  him  that 
this  genial  fire  consumed  the  costliest  of  all  offerings — self. 
Did  not  her  own  broken  heart  and  shattered  hopes  supply 
the  fuel  ?  Instead  of  brooding  apart  over  some  misfortune 
that  would  have  crushed  most  natures,  was  she  not  seeking 
to  make  her  life  an  altar  on  which  she  laid  as  a  gift  to  others 
the  best  treasures  of  her  woman's  soul  ? 

The  more  closely  he  studied  her  character,  and  the  con- 
trolling impulses  of  her  life,  the  more  sincere  became  his 
admiration,  and  the  deeper  his  reverence.  He  felt  with  truth 
that  she  was  of  different  and  finer  clay  from  himself. 

So  strong  was  this  impression,  that  the  thought  occurred 
to  him  that  in  this  and  kindred  reasons  might  be  found  the 
explanation  of  the  peculiar  regard  he  felt  for  her.  He  had 
virtually  offered  himself,  and  would  again  if  he  could  find 
the  opportunity.  If  he  were  sure  that  he  would  win  her, 
he  would  exult  as  one  might  who  had  secured  the  revenue 
of  a  kingdom,  the  purest  and  largest  gem  in  the  world,  or 
some  other  possession  that  was  unique  and  priceless.  The 
whole  of  his  strong  intellectual  nature  would  be  jubilant 
over  the  great  success  of  his  life.     He  was  also  conscious 


"HOPE    DIES    HARD"  255 

that  some  of  the  deepest  feelings  of  his  soul  were  inter- 
ested. She  was  becoming  like  a  religion  to  him,  and  he 
imagined  that  his  regard  for  her  was  somewhat  akin  to  that 
of  a  devout  Catholic  for  a  patron  saint. 

And  jet  he  was  compelled  to  admit  to  himself  that  he 
did  not  love  her  as  he  had  supposed  he  would  love  the 
woman  he  hoped  to  make  his  wife.  W  hy  was  his  heart  so 
tranquil  and  his  pulse  so  steady  ?  Certainly  not  because  of 
assured  success.  Why  did  his  regard  differ  so  radically 
from  Stanton's  consuming  passion?  Should  Stanton  win 
her  he  felt  that  he  could  still  seek  her  society  and  enjoy  her 
friendship.  The  prospect  of  never  winning  her  himself  did 
not  rob  life  of  its  zest  and  color.  On  the  contrary,  he  be- 
lieved that  she  would  ever  be  an  inspiration,  an  exquisite 
ideal  realized  in  actual  life.  As  such  he  could  not  lose  her 
any  more  than  those  women  whom  poetry,  fiction,  and  his- 
tory had  placed  as  stars  in  his  firmament,  and  this  belief 
so  contented  him  as  to  awaken  surprise. 

As  he  returned  from  a  long  and  solitary  stroll  on  Mon- 
day evening  he  soliloquized  complacently:  "I  am  making 
too  great  a  mystery  of  it  all.  She  is  not  an  ordinary  woman. 
Why  should  I  feel  toward  her  the  ordinary  and  conven- 
tional love  which  any  woman  might  evoke  ?  There  is  more 
of  spirit  than  of  flesh  and  blood  in  her  exquisite  organiza- 
tion. Sorrow  has  refined  away  every  gross  and  selfish  ele- 
ment, and  left  a  saint  toward  whom  devotion  is  far  more 
seemly  and  natural  than  passion.  She  awakens  in  me  a  re- 
gard corresponding  to  her  own  nature,  and  I  thank  heaven 
that  I  am  at  least  finely  enough  organized  to  understand 
her  and  so  can  seek  to  win  her  in  accordance  with  the 
subtle  laws  of  her  being.  She  would  shrink  inevitably  from 
a  downright,  headlong  passion  like  that  of  Stanton's,  no 
matter  how  honest  it  might  be  or  how  good  the  man  ex- 
pressing it  No  hand,  however  strong,  will  ever  grasp  this 
rara  avis,  this  good  angel,  rather.  Her  wings  must  be 
pinioned  by  gossamer  threads  of  patient  kindness,  delicate 
sympathy,  nice  appreciation,  and  all  woven  and  wound  so 


256  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

unobtrusively  that  the  shy  spirit  may  not  be  startled.  What 
a  fool  I  was  to  blurt  out  my  feelings  last  evening !  What  rare 
good-fortune  is  mine  in  the  fact  that  she  gives  me  the  van- 
tage-ground of  friendship  from  which  to  urge  a  suit  wherein 
must  be  combined  sincerity  with  consummate  skill.-  I  fear 
I  must  efface  some  other  image  before  I  can  implant  my 
own.  How  fortunate  I  am  that  my  cool  and  weli-poised 
nature  will  enable  me  to  work  under  the  guidance  of  judg- 
ment rather  than  impulse." 

Feeling  that  he  had  much  to  gain  and  was  in  no  danger 
of  irretrievable  loss,  he  lightly  mounted  the  steps  of  the 
hotel,  bent  on  finding  at  once  the  object  of  his  thoughts. 

He  saw  her  leaving  a  group  in  the  parlor,  of  which  Stan- 
too  was  one,  and  he  hastened  to  intercept  her  in  the  hall- 
way. Just  as  he  was  about  to  speak  to  her,  Mr.  Burleigh 
came  bustling  up  and  said: 

"Miss  Burton,  a  stranger — not  to  fame  or  fortune,  nor  to 
you  probably,  but  a  stranger  to  me— is  inquiring  for  you— 
a  stranger  from  the  South.  He  would  not  give  his  name, 
and— good  heavens,  Miss  Burton!  are  you  ill?" 

Van  Berg  led  .her  into  a  private  parlor  near.  She  cer- 
tainly had  grown  very  white  and  faint.  But  after  a  mo- 
ment there  came  a  flash  of  hope  and  eager  expectation  into 
her  face  that  no  words  could  have  expressed. 

"His  name — his  name?"  she  gasped. 

Mr.  Burleigh  looked  at  her  a  second,  and  then  said: 
"Stay  quietly  here,  I'll  bring  him  to  you;  and  then,  Mr. 
Van  Berg,  perhaps  you  and  I  might  form  an  enormous 
crowd." 

"Had  I  not  better  leave  you  at  once?"  the  artist  asked 
when  they  were  alone. 

"Wait  a  moment.  I — I — am  very  weak.  It  cannot  be — 
but  hope  dies  hard." 

Trembling  like  a  leaf,  and  with  eyes  aflame  with  intense, 
eager  hope,  she  watched  the  door. 

A  moment  later  Mr.  Burleigh  ushered  in  a  middle-aged 
gentleman,  who  commenced  saying: 


"HOPE   DIES    HARD**  257 

41 Pardon  me,  Miss  Burton,  for  not  sending  my  name, 
but  you  would  not  have  known  it" — then  the  young  lady's 
appearance  checked  him. 

The  effect  of  his  coming  was  indeed  striking.  It  was  as 
if  a  gust  of  wind  had  suddenly  extinguished  a  lamp.  The 
luminous  eyes  closed  for  a  moment,  and  the  face  became  so 
pallid  and  ashen  in  its  hue  as  to  suggest  death.  It  was  evi- 
dent to  Van  Berg  that  her  disappointment  was  more  bitter 
than  death. 

"Miss  Burton  took  a  long  walk  this  afternoon,"  he  said, 
hastily,  "and,  I  fear,  went  much  beyond  her  strength.  Per* 
haps  she  had  better  see  you  to-morrow." 

11  Oh,  certainly,  certainly;  I  will  remain,  if  there  is  need," 
the  gentleman  began. 

By  a  strong  and  evident  effort  Miss  Burton  regained  self- 
control,  and  said,  with  a  faint  smile  that  played  over  her  face 
a  moment  like  a  gleam  of  wintry  sunshine: 

"You  strong  men  often  call  women  weak,  and  we,  too 
often,  prove  you  right.  As  Mr.  Van  Berg  suggests,  I  am  a 
little  overtaxed  to-night.  Perhaps  I  had  better  see  you  in 
the  morning." 

"I  am  a  transient  guest,  and  ought  to  be  on  my  way  with 
the  first  train,"  said  the  gentleman.  "My  errand  is  as  brief 
as  it  is  grateful  to  me.  Do  not  leave,  sir,"  he  said  to  Van 
Berg.  "If  you  are  a  friend  of  Miss  Burton  it  will  be  pleas- 
ant for  you  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say;  and  I  warrant  you 
that  she  will  never  tell  you  nor  any  one  else  herself." 

"May  I  stay?"  he  asked. 

She  felt  so  weak  and  unnerved,  so  in  need  of  a  sustaining 
hand  and  mind  that  she  looked  at  him  appealingly,  and  said: 

"Yes.  This  gentleman  cannot  disgrace  me  more  than  I 
have  myself  this  evening." 

"Disgrace  you!  Miss  Burton,"  exclaimed  the  gentleman. 
"Your  name  is  a  household  word  in  our  home,  and  our 
honor  for  it  is  only  excelled  by  our  love.  You  remember 
my  invalid  daughter,  Emily  Musgrave — our  only  and  un- 
fortunate child.     She  attended  the  college  in  which  you  are 


258  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

an  instructress.  Before  she  came  under  your  influence  her 
infirmities  were  crushing  her  spirit  and  imbittenng  her  life. 
So  morbid  was  she  becoming  that  she  apparently  began  to 
hate  her  mother  and  myself  as  the  authors  of  her  wretched 
existence.  But  by  some  divine  magic  you  sweetened  the 
bitter  waters  of  her  life,  and  now  she  is  a  fountain  of  joy  in 
our  home.  In  her  behalf  and  her  mother's,  I  thank  you; 
and  even  more,  if  possible,  in  my  own  behalf,  for  the  re- 
proachful, averted  face  of  my  child  was  killing  me;"  and 
tears  stood  in  the  strong  man's  eyes. 

There  was  nothing  conventional  in  the  way  in  which 
Jennie  Burton  received  his  warm  gratitude.  She  leaned 
wearily  back  in  her  chair,  and  for  a  moment  closed  her 
eyes.  There  was  far  more  of  resignation  than  of  pleasure 
in  her  face,  and  she  had  the  air  of  one  submitting  to  a  fate 
which  one  could  not  and  ought  not  to  resist. 

"Your  three  lives  are  much  happier  then?"  she  said, 
gently,  as  if  wishing  to  hear  the  reassuring  truth  again. 

"You  do  not  realize  your  service  to  us,"  said  Mr.  Mus- 
grave,  eagerly.  "Our  lives  were  not  happy  at  all.  There 
seemed  nothing  before  us  but  increasing  pain.  You  have 
not  added  to  a  happiness  already  existing  merely,  but  have 
caused  us  to  exchange  positive  suffering  for  happiness.  Em- 
ily seems  to  have  learned  the  art  of  making  every  day  of  our 
lives  a  blessing,  and  she  says  you  taught  her  how.  I  would 
go  around  the  world  to  say  to  you,  4God  bless  you  for  it!7  " 

"Such  assurances  ought  to  make  one  resigned„if  not  con- 
tent,"  she  murmured  in  a  low  tone,  as  if  half  speaking  to 
herself.  Then  rising,  by  an  evident  effort,  she  cordially 
gave  her  hand  to  Mr.  Musgrave,  and  said: 

"You  see,  sir,  that  I  am  scarcely  myself  to-night.  I 
think  I  could  give  you  a  better  impression  of  your  daugh- 
ter's friend  to-morrow.  Give  her  my  sincere  love  and  con- 
gratulations. She  is  evidently  bearing  her  burden  better 
than  I  mine.  You  cannot  know  how  much  good  your 
words  have  done  me  to-night.  I  needed  them,  and  they 
will  help  me  for  years  to  come." 


"HOPE    DIES    HARD"  259 

The  gentleman's  eyes  grew  moist  again,  and  he  said, 
huskily : 

"I  know  yon  are  rather  alone  in  the  world,  but  if  it 
should  ever  happen  that  there  is  anything  that  I  could  do 
for  you  were  I  your  father,  call  on  John  Musgrave.  There, 
I  cannot  trust  myself  to  speak  to  you  any  more,  though  I 
have  so  much  to  say.  Good-night,  and  good-by;"  and  he 
made  a  very  precipitate  retreat,  thoroughly  overcome  by 
his  warm  Southern  heart. 

"I  dread  to  leave  you  looking  so  sad  and  ill,  or  else  I 
would  say  good-night  also,"  said  Van  Berg. 

She  started  as  if  she  had  half  forgotten  his  presence,  and 
kept  her  face  averted  as  she  replied: 

"I  will  say  good- night  to  you,  Mr.  Van  Berg.  I  would 
prove  poor  company  this  evening." 

"Before  you  go  I  wish  to  thank  you  for  letting  me  stay," 
he  said,  hastily.  "As  Mr.  Musgrave  asserted,  you  would 
indeed  never  have  told  me  what  I  have  heard,  and  yet 
I  would  not  have  missed  hearing  it  for  more  than  you 
will  believe.  How  many  lives  have  you  blessed,  Jennie 
Burton?" 

"Not  very  many,  I  fear,  but  I  half  wish  I  knew.  Each 
one  would  be  like  an  argument." 

"Arguments  that  should  prove  that  you  ought  to  let  the 
dead  past  bury  its  dead,  and  live  in  the  richer  present,"  he 
said,  earnestly. 

"The  richer  present!"  she  repeated  slowly,  and  her  face 
grew  almost  stern  in  its  reproach. 

"Forgive  me — in  the  present  you  so  enrich,  then,"  he  said, 
eagerly. 

Again  she  averted  her  face,  and  he  saw  that  for  some 
reason  she  wished  to  avoid  hi3  eyes. 

"I  am  too  weak  and  unnerved  to  do  more  than  say  good- 
night again,"  she  said,  trying  to  smile.  "  You  are  fast  learn- 
ing that  if  you  would  be  my  friend  you  must  be  a  patient  and 
generous  one." 

"Thank  heaven  I  came  to  the  Lake  House!"  ejaculated 


260  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

the  artist  as  he  strolled  out  into  the  starlight.  Thank  heaven 
for  this  mingling  of  mystery  and  crystal  purity.  It  does  me 
good  to  trust  her.  There  is  a  deep  and  abiding  joy  in  the 
very  generosity  she  inspires.  I  am  learning  the  spell  under 
which  Emily  Musgrave  came.  But  how  strange  it  all  is! 
She  expected  some  one  to-night,  whom  she  would  have  wel- 
comed as  she  never  will  me.  The  only  rival  I  have  to  fear 
may  not  be  dead,  as  I  supposed,  and  yet  my  perverse  heart 
is  more  full  of  pity  for  her  than  of  jealousy.  I  had  no  idea 
that  I  was  capable  of  such  self-abnegation.  Has  she  the 
art  of  spiritual  alchemy,  and  so  can  transmute  natures  full 
of  alloy  into  fine  gold?" 

Van  Berg  was  an  acute  observer,  and  had  large  acquaint- 
ance with  the  world  in  which  he  lived,  and  its  inhabitants. 
He  was  in  the  main,  however,  an  unknown  quantity  to 
himself. 


PUZZLED  2*>1 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

PUZZLED 

TUESDAY  was  dreary  enough  to  more  than  one  at  the 
Lake  House.  Clouds  covered  the  sky,  yet  they  gave 
little  promise  of  the  rain  which  the  thirsty  earth  so 
needed.  To  Ida,  as  she  looked  out  late  in  the  morning, 
they  seemed  like  a  leaden  wall  around  her,  shutting  off  all 

avenues  of  escape. 

Her  mother  joined  her  as  she  went  down  to  a  cold  and 
dismal  breakfast,  long  after  all  the  other  guests  had  left  the 
dining-room,  and  she  commenced  fretting  and  fuming,  as 
was   her  custom  when  the  world  did  not  arrange  itself  to 

suit  her  mood. 

"Everything  is  on  the  bias  to-day,"  she  said,  "and  you 
most  of  all  from  your  appearance.    I  wish  I  could  see  things 
straightened  out  for  once.      The  little  school-ma'am,  who 
turns  everybody's  head,  is  sick  in  her  room,  and  did  not 
come  down  to  breakfast.     Therefore  we  had  a  Quaker  meet- 
ing.    If  you  had  been  present  with  your  long  face,  the  oc- 
casion would  have  been  one  of  oppressive  solemnity.     Ik 
appeared  as  dejected  as  if  he  were  to  be  executed  before 
dinner,  and  scarcely  ate  a  mouthful;  I  never  saw  a  fellow 
so  changed  in  all  my  life.     Although  your  artist  friend  had 
a  rapt,  absorbed  look,  he  was  still  able  to  absorb  a  good 
deal   of   steak   and   coffee.     I   saw   him   and   Miss    Burton 
emerge  from  a  private  parlor  last  night,  and  he  probably 
nnderstands  Miss  Burton's  malady  better  than  the  rest  of 
us<     Why— what's  the  matter?     Would  to  heaven  1  under- 
stood your  malady  better !     Are  you  sick  ?' ' 


262  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"Yes,"  said  Ida,  rising  abruptly  from  the  table,  l'I  am 
sick — sick  of  myself,  sick  of  the  world." 

"Good  gracious!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  May  hew,  sharply, 
"are  you  so  wrapped  up  in  that  fellow  Sibley  that  you  can't 
live  without  him?" 

Ida  made  a  slight  but  expressive  gesture  of  protest  and 
disgust;  then  said,  in  a  low  tone,  as  if  to  herself:  "If  my 
own  mother  so  misjudges  me,  what  can  I  expect  of  others?" 

Mrs.  May  hew  followed  her  daughter  to  her  room  with  a 
perplexed  and  worried  look. 

"Ida,"  she  began,  "you  are  all  out  of  sorts;  you  are 
bilious;  you've  got  this  horrid  malaria,  that  the  doctors 
are  always  talking  about,  in  your  system.  Let  me  send 
for  our  city  physician,  Doctor  Betts.  Never  was  such  a 
man  at  diagnosis.  He  seems  to  look  right  inside  of  one 
and  see  everything  that's  going  on  wrong." 

"For  heaven's  sake  don't  send  for  him  then!"  ex- 
claimed Ida. 

Mrs.  May  hew  looked  askance  at  her  daughter  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  asked  bluntly: 

"Why ?     What's  going  on  wrong  in  you ?" 

"I  do  not  know  of  anything  that's  going  on  right — to  use 
your  own  phraseology." 

"You  mean  to  say,  then,  that  there  is  something  wrong?" 

"You  intimated  at  the  breakfast- table  that  everything 
was  going  wrong.  So  it  has  seemed  to  me,  for  some  time. 
But  come,  mother,  drugs  can't  reach  my  trouble,  and  so 
you  can't  help  me.     You  must  leave  me  to  myself." 

"I  think  you  might  tell  your  own  mother  what  is  the 
matter,"  whined  Mrs.  May  hew. 

"I  think  I  might  also,"  said  Ida,  coldly.  "It  is  not  my 
fault  but  my  great  misfortune  that  I  cannot." 

At  this  Mrs.  Mayhew  whimpered:  "You  are  very  cruel 
to  talk  to  me  in  that  way." 

"I  suppose  I'm  everything  that's  bad,"  Ida  answered 
recklessly.  "That  seems  to  be  the  general  verdict.  Per- 
haps it  would  be  best  for  you  all  were  I  out  of  the  way.     I 


PUZZLED  263 

can  scarcely  remember  when  I  have  had  a  friendly  look 
from  any  one.  Things  could  not  be  much  worse  with  me 
than  they  are  now.  I  think  f  would  like  a  change,  and 
may  have  a  very  decided  one."  Then  seizing  her  hat,  she 
left  her  mother  to  herself. 

Mrs.  Mayhew  sank  into  a  chair,  and  a  heavy  frown  gath. 
ered  on  her  brow  as  she  thought  deeply  for  a  few  moments. 

"That  girl  means  mischief,"  she  muttered.  "I  wonder 
if  she  is  holding  any  communication  with  Sibley  ?  I  al- 
ways thought  Ida  would  take  care  of  herself,  but  she'll 
bear  watching  now.  She  hasn't  been  like  herself  since 
she  came  to  this  place.  I  must  consult  Ik  at  once.  Things 
are  bad  enough  now,  heaven  knows;  but  if  Ida  should  do 
anything  disgraceful,  I'd  have  to  throw  up  the  game." 
(Mrs.  Mayhew  was  an  inveterate  card-player,  and  her  favor- 
ite amusement  often  colored  her  thoughts  and  words.) 

Stanton  was  found  smoking  and  pretending  to  read  a 
newspaper  in  a  retired  corner  of  the  piazza,  but  from  which, 
nevertherless,  he  could  see  whether  Miss  Burton  made  her 
appearance  during  the  morning. 

Mrs.  Mayhew  explained  her  fears,  and  the  young  man 
used  very  strong  language  in  expressing  his  disgust  and 
irritation. 

44 A  curse  upon  it  all!"  he  concluded.  tl  Since  she  must, 
and  apparently  will  gratify  this  low  taste,  can  you  not  re- 
turn to  New  York,  patch  up  the  fellow  into  some  sort  of 
respectability  and  marry  them  with  a  blare  of  brazen  instru- 
ments  that  will  drown  the  world's  unpleasant  remarks?" 

1  'That  would  be  better  than  the  scandal  of  an  elopement, ' ' 
mused  perplexed  Mrs.  Mayhew.  tlFrom  what  you  say,  Sib- 
ley is  bad  enough,  and  Ida  seems  reckless  enough  to  do  any- 
thing.    I  wish  we  had  never  come  here." 

"So  do  I,"  groaned  Stanton.  "No,  I  don't,  either.  In 
fact  I'm  in  a  devil  of  a  mess  myself.  You  know  it,  and  I 
suppose  all  see  it.  I  can't  help  it  if  they  do.  My  passion, 
no  doubt,  is  vain,  but  it's  to  my  credit.  Ida's  is  disgrace- 
ful to  herself  and  to  us  alL     If  I'd  been  here  alone  and  Van 


264  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

Berg  had  not  come,  I  might  have  succeeded;  but  now'1 — and 
with  a  despairing  gesture  he  turned  away. 

"Ik,  come  back,"  cried  his  aunt,  "of  course  I  feel  for 
you.  You  are  independent,  and  can  marry  whom  you 
please,  though  heaven  knows  you  could  do  better  than—" 

"Heaven  knows  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  interrupted, 
irritably,  "and  if  you  were  nearer  heaven — but  there,  what's 

the  use." 

"You're  right  now,  Ik.  We  can't  afford  to  quarrel.  You 
must  talk  to  Ida.  We  must  watch  her.  Find  out  if  you 
can  what  is  in  her  mind,  and  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst, 
they  will  have  to  be  married.  I  suppose  it  will  be  wise  to 
hint  to  her  that  if  she  will  marry  Sibley  she  had  better 
do  it  in  as  respectable  and  quiet  a  way  as  possible." 

"The  idea  of  anything  being  respectable  and  quiet  where 
they  are  concerned!"  snarled  Stanton. 

"Well,  well,"  groaned  Mrs.  Mayhew,  "do  your  best." 

But  Ida  was  not  to  be  found. 

She  appeared  at  dinner,  however,  and  not  a  few  looked 
at  her,  and  stole  furtive  glances  again  and  again.  Among 
these  observers  was  the  artist,  and  it  was  evident  that  he 
was  both  perplexed  and  troubled.  Was  this  cold,  marble- 
cheeked  woman  the  butterfly  that  had  fluttered  into  the 
country  a  few  weeks  since  ? 

"She  may  be  a  bad  woman,"  he  thought,  "but  she  has 
become  a  woman  within  the  last  few  days.  She  looks  years 
older.  I  thought  her  shallow,  but  she's  too  deep  for  me. 
For  some  reason  I  can't  associate  that  face,  as  it  now  ap- 
pears, with  Sibley,  and  yet  it  is  so  full  of  mingled  pain  and 
defiance,  that  one  might  almost  think  she  meditated  a  crime. 
She  looks  ill.  She  is  ill— she  is  growing  thin  and  hollow- 
eyed.  What  a  magnificent  study  she  would  make  of  a  half- 
famished  captive;  or  of  beauty  chained — not  married  to  a 
man  hateful  and  hated;  or,  possibly,  of  innocence  meditat- 
ing guilt,  and  yet  seeking  vainly  to  disguise  the  dark 
thoughts  by  a  marble  mask.  There  is  some  transforming 
process  going  on  in  Ida  Mayhew 's  mind,  and  from  her  ap- 


PUZZLED  265 

pearance  I  rather  dread  the  outcome;  but  her  face  is  becom- 
ing a  rare  study." 

Although  with  the  exception  of  a  slight  response  to  his 
formal  bow  she  had  sought  to  ignore  his  presence  and  to 
avoid  his  eyes,  she  was  still  conscious  of  this  furtive  sera- 
tiny,  and  it  hurt  her  cruelly.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were  study- 
ing her  as  one  might  a  peculiar  specimen. 

"His  critical  eyes  are  trying  to  look  into  my  heart  as 
they  did  into  the  poor  little  rosebud,"  she  thought;  and 
her  face  grew  more  rigid  and  inscrutable  under  his  gaze. 
As  early  as  possible  she  left  the  table. 

"I  wish  I  knew  just  what  her  trouble  was,"  thought  the 
artist.  "If  not  connected  with  that  wretch  Sibley,  I  could 
pity  her  with  all  my  heart.  Well,  take  all  the  good  the 
gods  send,  111  sketch  her  face  this  afternoon  as  I  have  last 
seen  it." 

"Tour  cousin  begins  to  look  decidedly  ill,"  he  said  to 
Stanton,  after  dinner. 

His  friend's  only  reply  was  an  imprecation. 

"Your  remark  is  emphatic  enough,  but  I  don't  under- 
stand it  any  better  than  I  do  Miss  Mayhew." 

"It's  to  your  credit  you  don't.  Her  mother  has  reason 
to  believe  that  there  is  some  deviltry  on  foot  between  her 
and  Sibley.  I'm  to  find  out  and  thwart  her  if  I  can.  I 
suppose  I  shall  have  to  say,  in  substance:  'Since  you  will 
throw  yourself  away  on  the  fellow,  go  through  the  formali- 
ties that  society  demands.  In  such  case  your  family  will 
submit,  if  they  can't  approve.  fou  see  I'm  frank  with 
you,  as  I've  been  from  the  first.'  Would  to  heaven  she 
had  never  come  here,  and  now  I  think  of  it  there  has  been 
a  change  in  her  for  the  worse  ever  since  she  came.  It  must 
be  the  influence  of  that  cursed  Sibley.  Some  women  are 
fools  to  begin  with;  but  from  a  fool  infatuated  with  a  vil- 
lain, good  Lord  deliver  us!" 

'You  fear  an  elopment  then?"  said  Van  Berg,  his  face 
darkening  into  his  deepest  frown. 

"I  fear  worse  than  that.     Sibely  is  as  treacherous  as  a 

12— Roe— XII 


266  A    FACE   ILLUMINED- 

quagmire.  If  a  woman  ventured  into  a  false  position  with 
him  he  would  marry  her  only  when  compelled  to  do  so. 
I'm  savage  enough  to  shoot  them  both  this  afternoon.  I 
see  but  one  way  out.  I  must  warn  her  promptly,  and  in 
language  so  emphatic  that  she  will  understand  it,  that 
everything  must  be  after  the  regulation  style." 

Van  Berg  made  a  gesture  of  contempt,  but  said  to  his 

friend: 

"Stanton,  I'm  sorry  for  you.  Such  trouble  as  this  would 
cut  me  deeper  than  any  other  kind.  If  I  can  do  anything 
to  help  you,  count  on  me.  I'm  in  the  mood  myself  to  shoot 
Sibley,  for  he  has  spoiled  for  me  the  fairest  face  that  evil 
ever  perverted." 

Van  Berg  did  not  sketch  Ida  Mayhew's  face  that  after- 
noon. On  the  contrary,  he  resolutely  sought  to  banish  her 
image  from  his  mind.  When  last  he  saw  that  face,  it  seemed 
made  of  Parian  marble.  Now  it  rose  before  him  so  black- 
ened and  besmirched  that  he  thought  of  it  only  with  anger 

and  disgust. 

Ida  kept  herself  so  secluded  in  the  afternoon  that  Stan- 
ton could  not  find  her;  but  this  very  seclusion,  which  the 
poor  girl  sought  in  order  to  hide  her  wounds,  only  increased 
his  own  and  Mrs.  Mayhew's  fears  deepened  their  suspicions. 

She  was  a  little  late  in  appearing  at  the  supper-table,  for 
her  return  from  the  wanderings  of  the  afternoon  had  re- 
quired more  time  than  she  supposed.  She  was  very  weary ; 
moreover,  the  hours  spent  in  solitude  with  nature  had  quieted 
her  overstrung  nerves.  The  sun  had  shone  upon  her,  though 
the  world  seemed  to  frown.  Flowers  had  looked  shyly  and 
sweetly  into  her  face  as  if  they  saw  nothing  there  to  criti- 
cise. She  had  plucked  a  few  and  fastened  them  into  her 
breast-pin,  and  their  faint  perfume  was  like  a  low,  soothing- 
voice.  She  was  in  a  softened  and  receptive  mood,  and  a 
kind  word,  even  a  kind  glance,  might  have  turned  the  scale 
in  favor  of  better  thoughts  and  better  living. 

But  she  did  not  receive  them.     Her  coming  to  the  table 
was  greeted  with  an  ominous  silence,  for  each  one  was  con* 


PUZZLED  267 

scious  of  thoughts  so  greatly  to  her  prejudice  that  they 
scarcely  wished  to  meet  her  eye.  Mrs.  Mayhew  looked  ex- 
cessively worried  and  anxious.  Stanton  was  flushed  and 
angry.  The  artist  was  as  icy  as  he  only  knew  how  to  be 
when  he  deemed  there  was  sufficient  occasion;  and  in  his 
opinion,  the  presence  of  the  prospective  and  willing  bride 
of  the  man  who  had  attempted  his  life,  and,  what  was  far 
worse,  insulted  the  woman  he  most  honored,  was  occasion, 
indeed. 

From  time  to  time  he  gave  her  a  cold,  curious  glance,  as 
one  might  look  at  some  strange,  abnormal  thing  for  which 
there  is  no  accounting;  but  his  slight  scrutiny  was  no 
longer  furtive.  He  looked  at  her  openly  as  he  would  at 
an  object,  and  not  at  a  woman  whose  feelings  he  would  not 
wound  for  the  world.  His  thought  was:  "A  creature  akin 
to  Sibley  deserves  no  consideration,  and  can  put  in  no  just 
claim  for  delicacy." 

Indeed  he  felt  a  peculiar  vindictiveness  toward  her  to- 
night, because  she  had  so  thwarted  him,  and  was  about 
to  carry  her  extraordinary  dower  of  beauty  to  the  moral 
slough  that  seemingly  awaited  her.  Therefore,  his  glance 
swept  carelessly  over  her  with  a  cold  indifference  that 
chilled  her  very  soul. 

But  these  transient  glances  caught  enough  to  trouble 
him  with  a  vague  uneasiness.  Although  he  was  steeled 
against  her  by  prejudice  and  anger,  something  in  her  ap- 
pearance so  pleaded  in  her  favor  that  misgivings  would 
arise.  Once  he  thought  she  met  his  eyes  with  something 
like  an  appeal  in  her  own,  but  he  would  not  look  long 
enough  to  be  sure.  A  moment  later  he  was  vexed  with 
himself  that  he  had  not. 

The  silence  or  the  forced  remarks  at  the  table  were 
equally  oppressive,  and  Ida  immediately  felt  that  she  was 
the  cause  of  the  restraint.  She  was  about  to  leave  the  table 
in  order  to  relieve  them  of  her  presence,  when  Miss  Burton 
unexpectedly  entered  and  took  her  chair,  which  hitherto 
had  been  vacant.     She  was  a  little  pale  and  wan,  but  this 


268  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

only  made  her  look  the  more  interesting,  and  both  Stanton 
and  Van  Berg  welcomed  her  as  they  would  the  sunshine 
after  a  dreary  storm.  Even  Mrs.  May  hew  seemed  to  find 
a  wonderful  relief  in  her  coming,  and  added  her  voluble 
congratulations. 

"I  have  had  nervous  headaches  myself,  and  know  how 
to  sympathize  with  you,"  she  concluded. 

"She  does  not  know  how  to  sympathize  with  me,"  sighed 
her  daughter. 

The  sigh  caught  Van  Berg's  attention,  and  he  was  sur- 
prised to  see  that  the  maiden's  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  She 
bowed  her  head  a  moment  to  hide  them,  and  then  abruptly 
left  the  table  and  the  room. 

The  artist's  misgivings  ended  in  something  like  com- 
punction, as  he  thought:  "Her  tears  are  caused  by  the 
contrast  between  the  icy  reception  we  gave  her,  and  the  cor- 
dial welcome  we  have  just  given  Miss  Burton.  Confound  it 
all!  I  wish  I  knew  the  exact  truth,  or  that  she  would  leave 
for  parts  unknown  where  I  could  never  see  her  again." 

Miss  Burton  glanced  wistfully  after  the  retreating  maiden, 
but  no  explanation  was  offered.  Then,  as  if  feeling  that  she 
had  lost  a  day's  opportunity  for  diffusing  sunshine,  she  be- 
came more  genial  and  brilliant  than  Van  Berg  had  ever 
known  her  to  be.  They  lingered  long  at  the  table;  Mr. 
Burleigh  and  others  joined  them.  Their  laughter  rang  out 
and  up  to  the  dusky  room  in  which  poor  Ida  was  sobbing. 

"I  wish  I  were  dead  and  out  of  every  one's  way." 

Van  Berg  laughed  with  the  others,  but  never  for  a  mo- 
ment did  he  lose  the  uneasy  consciousness  that  he  might 
possibly  be  misjudging  Ida  Mayhew.  Although  Mr.  Bur- 
leigh's portly  form  occupied  her  chair,  it  did  not  prevent 
him  from  seeing  a  pale,  tearful  face  that  was  far  too  beauti- 
ful, far  too  free  from  all  gross  and  sensual  elements,  to  har- 
monize with  the  character  he  was  supposing  her  to  possess. 
He  recalled  what  she  had  said  about  the  "fragrance"  of  the 
rosebud  he  had  torn  and  tossed  away,  rising  to  him  like  "a 
low,  timid  appeal  for  mercy."     Had  she  shyly  and  timidly 


PUZZLED  269 

appealed  to  him  for  a  kinder  judgment  that  evening,  and 
had  he  been  too  blind  and  prejudiced  to  see  anything  save 
the  stains  left  by  Sibley's  name?  If  she  proposed  to  go  to 
Sibley,  why  was  she  not  like  him  in  manner  ?  It  was  strange 
that  one  akin  to  such  a  fellow  should  fasten  wild  flowers  on 
her  bosom,  and  still  more  strange  that  they  should  be  so 
becoming. 

The  cool  and  sagacious  Van  Berg,  who  so  prided  him- 
self on  his  correct  judgment,  was  decidedly  perplexed  and 
perturbed. 


270  A   FACE  ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

DESPERATELY     WOUNDED 

STANTON  basked  in  Miss  Burton's  smiles  until  a  sig- 
nificant look  from  Mrs.  Mayhew  reminded  him  of  his 
disagreeable  task,  for  the  performance  of  which  there 
seemed  a  greater  urgency  than  ever.  Ida's  rather  precipi- 
tate withdrawal  from  the  supper- room  was  another  proof 
in  their  eyes  that  some  mischief  was  brewing. 

He  listened  at  her  door  for  a  moment,  and  could  not  fail 
to  hear  the  stifled  sound  of  her  passionate  grief;  then 
knocked,  but  there  was  no  response. 

tkIda,"  he  said,  in  a  kinder  tone  than  usual,  l4l  want  to 
see  you." 

She  tried  to  quiet  her  sobbing,  and  after  a  moment  fal- 
tered: 'l  You  had  better  leave  me  to  myself." 

"No,  I  must  see  you,"  he  said  kindly  but  firmly. 
t4T  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

The  poor  girl  was  so  lonely  and  heart-broken  that  she 
was  ready  for  the  least  ray  of  comfort.  She  now  saw  that 
she  was  ignorant  and  exceedingly  faulty.  She  was  ready 
to  admit  the  fact  that  she  had  acted  very  foolishly  and 
unwisely,  and  that  circumstances  were  against  her.  Ill- 
omened  circumstances  have  brought  to  condemnation  and 
death  innocent  men.  Ida  would  not  now  claim  that  she 
was  innocent  of  blame,  but  events  had  seemed  so  unfortu- 
nate of  late,  that  she  was  half  ready  to  think  that  some 
vindictive  hand  was  shaping  them. 

But  she  did  not  feel  that  she  was  now  worse  than  she 
had  been.     On  the  contrary,  she  had  longings  for  a  better 


DESPERATELY    WOUNDED  271 

life  and  a  broader  culture  such  as  she  had  never  experienced 
before.  The  artist's  eyes,  in  searching  for  her  woman's 
soul,  revealed  to  her  that  she  had  been  a  fool;  but  now 
she  would  gladly  become  a  woman  if  some  one  would  only 

point  out  the  way. 

"Mother  and  Ik  might  learn  that  I  am  not  wholly  bad 
if  they  would  only  take  the  trouble  to  find  out,"  she  mur- 
mured "Ik  used  to  be  kind-hearted,  and  I  thought  he 
cared  a  little  for  me,  in  spite  of  our  sparring.  Why  is  he  so 
hard  on  me  of  late?  Why  can't  he  believe  that  I  am  just 
as  capable  of  detesting  Sibley  as  he  is?  Perhaps  he  does 
mean  to  say  a  kind  word,  and  give  me  a  chance  to  ex- 

P  ^These  thoughts  passed  through  her  mind  as  she  lighted 
the  gas  and  bathed  her  face,  that  she  might,  to  some  extent, 
remove  the  evidences  of  grief. 

Stanton  misunderstood  her  wholly.     The  new  Ida,  that 
deep  feeling   and  recent  events  were  developing,  was  un- 
known to  him,  and  he  had  been  too  preoccupied  to  see  the 
changes,  even  had  they  been  more  apparent.     He  did  feel 
a  sort  of  commiseration  for  her  evident  suffering,  for  he  was 
too  kind-hearted  not  to  sympathize  even  when  he  believed 
pain  to  be  well-deserved.    But  he  thought  he  must  still  deal 
with  her  as  a  wayward,  passionate  child,  as  he  had  m  the 
past,   when  she  cried  till  she  obtained  what  she  wished, 
right  or  wrong.     He  now   believed  that  she  was  as  fully 
bent  on  carrying  out  her  own  unreasonable  will,  but  re- 
membered that  she  was  no  longer  a  child,  and  might  be 
guilty  of  folly  that  society  would  not  forgive  as  childish. 
Therefore  he  wished  to  see  her  face,  and  was  disposed  to  be 
wary  and  observant. 

He  gave   her  a  quick,   keen  glance  as  he  entered,  and 

then  said: 

"What's  the  matter,  Ida?     Why  do  you  sit  here  m  the 
shadows?    It's  as  dark  as  a  pocket;"   and  he  turned  the  gas 

higher. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  sat  down  with  her  face  averted 


272  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

from  him  and  the  light.  "He  has  come  here,  as  a  spy,  and 
not  as  a  comforter,"  she  thought. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment,  mistook  her  silence  as  an 
expression  of  the  settled  obstinacy  of  her  purpose. 

"Well,  Ida,"  he  said,  a  little  irritably,  "I  know  you  of 
old.  I  suppose  you  will  have  your  own  way  as  usual. 
If  we  must  submit,  why  then  we  must;  but  you  can't  ex- 
pect us  to  do  so  with  any  grace.  If  you  won't  give  up  this 
Sibley,  for  heaven's  sake  let  your  mother  arrange  the 
matter  after  the  fashion  of  the  day !  Out  of  regard  for  your 
family,  go  through  all  the  regular  formalities." 

She  started  violently  and  then  leaned  back  in  her  chair 
as  if  she  were  faint,  and  half  stunned  by  a  blow.  He  re- 
garded her  manner  as  an  evidence  of  guilt,  or,  at  least,  of 
proposed  criminal  imprudence  on  her  part,  and  went  on 
still  more  plainly: 

"If  you  can't  exist  without  Sibley — why,  marry  him; 
but  see  to  it  that  there  is  a  plenty  of  priest,  altar,  and  ser- 
vice; for  you  know,  or  you  ought  to,  that  he's  a  man  who 
can't  be  trusted  a  hair's-breadth." 

She  averted  her  face  still  further,  and  said  in  a  low, 
constrained  tone: 

"My  family,  then,  consent  that  I  should  marry  Mr. 
Sibley?" 

"No;  we  submit  to  the  marriage  as  an  odious  necessity, 
on  condition  that  you  put  the  whole  matter  into  your 
mother's  hands  and  allow  her  to  arrange  everything  ac- 
cording to  society's  requirements." 

"Please  let  me  understand  you,"  she  said,  in  a  lower 
voice.  ' '  My  family  offer  to  submit  to  the  marriage  as  a  dire 
necessity  lest  my  relations  with  Mr.  Sibley  cover  them  with 
a  deeper  shame  ?' ' 

"Well,  in  plain  English,  yes." 

"It  is  indeed  extraordinarily  plain  English — brutally 
plain.  And  does — does  Mr.  Van  Berg  share  in  your  esti- 
mate of  me  ?' ' 

Her  manner  and  words  began  to  puzzle  Stanton,  and  he 


DESPERATELY    WOUNDED  273 

remembered  the  artist's  question-1 'Are  you  absolutely  sure 
that  Sibley  is  the  cause  of  her  trouble?"  He  thought  that 
perhaps  it  might  be  good  policy  to  contrast  the  two  men. 

-To  be  frank,"  he  replied,   llI  think  Mr.  Van  Berg  has 
both  wished  and  tried  to  think  well  of  you.     He  admired 
your  beauty  immensely,  and  sought  to  find  something  in 
your  character  that  corresponded  with  it.     Even  after  your 
studied  rudeness  to  him,  your  open  preference  of  Sibley's 
society  to  his,  and  your  remark  explaining  your  course, 
'congenial  society  or  none  at  all'  "  (Ida  fairly  groaned  as  he 
recafled  her  folly),  "he  tried  to  treat  you  politely.     That 
you  should  refuse  the  society  of  a  gentleman  like  my  friend 
for  the  sake  of  such  a  low  fellow  as  Sibley,  is  to  us  all  a  dis- 
gusting and  fathomless  mystery.     The  belief  that  you  could 
throw  yourself  and  your  rare  beauty  into  this  abominable 
slough,  was  so  revolting  to  Van  Berg,  that  he  never  would 
wholly  accept  of  it  until  to-day." 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  turned  upon  him.  Her  eyes  were 
fairly  blazing  with  indignation,  and  her  face  was  white  and 
terrible  from  her  anger.  In  tones  such  as  he  had  never 
heard  any  woman  use  before,  she  said: 

41  But  to-day  you  have  succeeded  in  satisfying  him  that 

this  is  not  only  possible,  but  the  most  natural  thing  for  me 

to  do.     You  have  told  him  that  my  family  will  submit  to 

my  marriage  with  a  loathsome  wretch,  who  got  drunk  in  the 

presence  of  ladies,  insulted  an  orphan  girl,  and  attempted 

murder— and  all  in  one  Sunday  afternoon.     I  suppose  you 

thought  me  captivated,  and  carried  away  by  such  a  burst 

and  blaze  of  villany;  and  so  my  high-toned  family  explain 

to  the  faultless  and  aristocratic  Mr.  Van  Berg  that  they  will 

submit  to  an  odious  marriage  lest  I  clandestinely  follow  the 

scoundrel  who  was  very  properly  driven  away,  like  the  base 

cur  he  is.    This  is  why  you  received  me  to-night  as  if  I  were 

a  pestilence.     This  is  why  I  was  treated  at  the  table  as  if  I 

were  a  death's-head.    This  is  why  your  perfect  friend  looked 

toward  me  as  if  my  chair  were  vacant.     He  refused  even  to 

recognize  the  existence  of  such  a  loathsome  thing  as  my 


274  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

family  explain  to  him  that  I  am.  Great  heaven !  may  I  never 
live  to  receive  a  deeper  humiliation  than  this!" 

"But,  Ida,"  cried  Stanton,  deeply  alarmed  and  agitated 
by  her  manner,  "how  else  could  we  explain  your  action  and 
your  reckless  words  to  your  mother?" 

"Oh,  I  admit  that  circumstances  are  against  me,  but  there 
is  no  excuse  for  this  outrage!  I  don't  know  what  I  did  say 
to  mother.  I've  been  too  wretched  and  discouraged  to  re- 
member. She  is  my  mother,  and  I'll  say  nothing  against 
her,  though,  heaven  knows,  she  has  been  a  strange  mother 
to  me.  Would  to  God  I  had  a  father  that  I  could  go  to,  or 
a  brother!  But  it  seems  I  have  not  a  friend  in  the  great, 
scornful  world.  Don't  interrupt  me.  Words  count  for  noth- 
ing now,  and  mine  least  of  all.  If  you  were  all  ready  to  be- 
lieve me  capable  of  what  you  have  plainly  intimated,  you 
need  something  stronger  than  words  to  convince  you  to 
the  contrary.  Of  one  thing  I  shall  make  sure — you  and 
your  faultless  friend  shall  never  have  the  chance  to  insult 
me  again.     I  wish  you  to  leave  my  room." 

"Oh,  come,  Ida,  listen  to  reason,"  Stanton  began  coax- 
ingly. 

"I  admitted  you,"  she  interrupted  with  a  repellant  ges- 
ture, "in  the  hope  of  receiving  a  little  kindness,  for  which 
I  was  famishing,  but  I  would  rather  you  had  stabbed  me 
than  have  said  what  you  have.  Hush,  not  a  word  more. 
The  brutal  wrong  has  been  done.  Will  you  not  go?  This 
is  my  private  apartment.  I  command  you  to  leave  it;  and 
if  you  will  not  obey  I  will  summon  Mr.  Burleigh;"  and  she 
placed  her  hand  on  the  bell. 

Her  manner  was  at  once  so  commanding  and  threaten- 
ing that  Stanton,  with  a  gesture  of  deprecation  and  protest, 
silently  obeyed. 

He  was  so  surprised  and  unnerved  by  the  interview  in 
which  the  maiden  had  turned  upon  him  with  a  fiery  indig- 
nation that  was  almost  volcanic,  that  he  wished  to  think 
the  affair  all  over  and  regain  his  composure  before  meeting 
any  one.     Clearly  they  had  failed  to  understand  Ida  of  late, 


DESPERATELY    WOUNDED  275 

and  had  misjudged  her  utterly.  And  yet,  guided  by  ap- 
pearances, he  felt  that  they  could  scarcely  have  come  to 
any  other  conclusion. 

Now  that  he  had  been  jostled  out  of  his  preoccupation, 
he  began  to  realize  that  Ida  had  not  appeared  of  late  like 
the  frivolous  girl  that  had  accompanied  him  to  the  country. 
Changes  were  taking  place  in  her  as  well  as  in  himself,  "but 
not  from  the  same  cause,"  he  thought.     "After  her  words 
and  manner  to-night,  I  cannot  doubt  but  that  Sibley  has 
disgusted  her  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us,  although  she  had 
a  strange  way  of  showing  it.     It  cannot  be  that  a  woman 
would  speak  of  a  man  for  whom  she  had  any  regard,  as  Ida 
did  of  the  wretch  with  whom  we  were  associating  her;  and 
as  for  Van   Berg,  she   has  taken  no  pains  to  conceal   her 
strong  dislike  for  him  from  the  first  day  of  their  meeting. 
I  can't  think  of  any  one  else  at  present  (although  there  might 
be  a  score)  who  is  disturbing  the  shallow  waters  of  her  mind. 
"I'm  inclined  to  think  that  she  is  deeply  mortified  at  the 
false  position  in  which   Sibley  has  placed  her,  and  is  too 
proud  to  make  explanations.     It  may  be  also  that  she  is 
realizing  more  fully  the  disgrace  of  her  father's  course,  and 
it  is  also  possible  that  she  is  waking  up  to  a  sense  of  her 
own  deficiencies.     Although  she  could  not  fail  to  dislike 
such  people  as  Jennie  Burton  and  Van  Berg,  she  would  be 
apt  to  contrast  herself  with  them  and  the  impression  which 
she  and  they  made  on  society.     Confound  it  all !     I  wish 
I  had  not  taken  it  for  granted   that   she  was  pining  for 
Sibley  and  ready  to  throw  herself  away  for  his  sake.     It 
has  placed  me  in  a  deucedly  awkward  position.     I  doubt 
if  she  ever  fully  forgives  me,  and  I  can't  blame  her  if  she 
doesn't." 

"Well?"   said  Mrs,   May  hew,   as  Stanton  moodily  ap- 
proached her. 

"Come  with  me,"  he  said.     When  they  were  alone  he 
prefaced  his  story  with  the  irritable  remark: 

"It's  a  pity  you  can't  understand  your  daughter  better. 
She  detests  Sibley." 


276  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"Thank  heaven  for  that,"  exclaimed  the  mother. 

"I  should  be  more  inclined  to  thank  both  heaven  and 
yourself  if  you  had  discovered  the  fact  before  sending  me 
on  such  an  intensely  disagreeable  mission.  You  must  man- 
age your  daughter  yourself  hereafter,  for  she'll  never  take 
anything  more  from  me;"  and  he  told  her  substantially 
the  nature  of  his  interview,  and  his  surmises  as  to  the  real 
causes  of  her  trouble. 

"I  think  you  are  right,"  said  Mrs.  May  hew,  whose  im- 
pressions were  as  changeable  as  superficial;  "and  I'm  ex- 
cessively glad  to  think  so.  With  her  beauty,  Ida  can,  in 
spite  of  her  father,  make  a  brilliant  match,  in  every  sense 
of  the  word;"  and  with  the  prospect  of  this  supreme  con- 
summation of  life  regained,  the  wife  and  mother  gave  a  sigh 
of  great  relief. 

"But  she's  in  an  awful  mood,  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Stan- 
ton, dubiously.  "I  never  knew  a  woman  to  look  and  speak 
as  she  did  to-night.  If  you  don't  manage  better  she'll  make 
us  trouble  yet." 

"Oh,  I'm  used  to  Ida's  tantrums.  They  don't  last. 
Nothing  does  with  her.  Time  and  another  admirer  will 
bring  her  around." 

"Well,  you  ought  to  know,"  said  Stanton  with  a  shrug; 
"but  I  retire  from  the  management.  I  can't  help  saying, 
however,  that  something  in  her  looks  and  words  makes  me 
uneasy.  I  regret  exceedingly  I  spoke  as  I  did,  and  shall 
apologize  at  the  first  opportunity. 

"You'll  have  that  in  the  morning.  Things  are  so  much 
better  than  I  feared  that  I  am  greatly  relieved.  She'll  come 
around  now  if  nothing  more  is  said.  Roiled  water  always 
settles  when  kept  quiet;"  and  Mrs.  May  hew  returned  to  the 
parlor  in  much  better  spirits. 

Stanton  followed  his  aunt  and  joined  a  small  group  that 
had  gathered  around  Miss  Burton.  Van  Berg  gave  him  a 
quick,  questioning  look,  but  gathered  the  impression  only 
that  he  had  been  subjected  to  a  very  painful  interview. 

"She  has  evidently  realized  his  worst  fears,"  he  thought; 


DESPERATELY    WOUNDED  2?7 

"curses  on  her!"   and  his  face  grew  fairly  black  for  a  mo- 
ment with  anger  and  disgust. 

But  Jennie  Burton's  silver  tongue  soon  charmed  away 
the  evil  spirits  from  both  the  young  men. 

She  had  fine  conversational  powers,  and  her  keen  intui- 
tion and  her  controlling  passion  to  give  pleasure  enabled 
her  to  detect  and  draw  out  the  best  thoughts  of  others. 
Her  evident  sympathy  put  every  one  at  ease,  and  gave 
people  the  power  of  such  happy  expression  that  they  were 
surprised  at  themselves,  and  led  to  believe  that  they  not 
only  received  but  gave  something  better  than  the  average. 
Therefore,  under  the  magic  of  her  goodwill,  both  eyes  and 
minds  kindled,  and  even  commonplace  persons  became 
almost  brilliant  and  eloquent. 

Stanton's  was  the  only  clouded  face  in  her  circle  that 
evening;  and  true  to  her  instinct,  she  set  about  banishing 
his  trouble,  whatever  it  might  be— an  easy  task  with  her 

power  over  him. 

Since  it  daily  became  more  evident  to  her  that  she  must 
wound  his  vanity,  and  perhaps  his  heart  a  little,  she  tried 
to  make  amends  by  showing  him  such  public  considera- 
tion as  might  rob  his  disappointment  of  humiliation  and 

bitterness. 

Stanton,  therefore,  soon  forgot  Ida's  desperate  face,  and 

was  enjoying  himself  at  his  best. 

Yet  Ida's  face  but  faintly  revealed  her  heart.  It  seemed 
that  the  end  had  now  come  in  very  truth,  and  she  was  con- 
scious chiefly  oE  a  wild  impulse  to  escape  from  her  shame 
and  suffering.  There  was  also  a  bitter  sense  of  wrong  and 
a  wish  to  retaliate. 

"I'll  teach  them  all  a  lesson,"  she  muttered,  as  she 
paced  her  room  swiftly  to  and  fro.  "This  proud  artist 
thinks  he  can  look  at  me  as  if  I  were  empty  air;  that  he 
can  forget  me  as  he  has  the  rosebud  he  tossed  away.  I 
will  insure  that  he  looks  at  me  once  with  a  face  as  white  as 
mine  will  then  be,  and  that  he  remembers  me  to  his  dying 
day." 


278  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

After  becoming  more  calm,  and  as  if  acting  under  a  sud- 
den impulse,  she  hastily  made  a  simple  but  singular  toilet. 
When   completed,   her   mirror  reflected   a  plain,  close- 
fitting,   black  gown,  which  left  her  neck  and   arms  bare. 
Around  her  white  throat  she  placed  a  black  velvet  band, 
and  joined  it  by  a  small  jet  poniard  studded  with  diamonds. 
Her  sunny  hair  was  wound  into  a  severely  simple  coil,  and 
also  fastened  with  a  larger  poniard,  from  the  haft  and  guard 
of  which  glistened  diamonds  of  peculiar  brilliancy.      She 
took  off  all  her  rings,  and  wore  no  other  ornaments.     Then 
taking  from  her  table  a  book,  bearing  conspicuously  as  its 
title  the  word  ''Misjudged,"  she  went  down  to  the  parlor. 
She  paused  a  moment  on  the  threshold  before  she  was 
noticed.     Her  mother  was  eagerly  gossiping  with  two  or 
three  fashionable  women  about  a  scandal  that  she  hoped 
might  cause  her  own  family's  short-comings  to  be  forgotten 
in  part.     Miss  Burton  was  telling  a  story  in  her  own  inimi- 
table style,  and  ripples  of  smiles  and  laughter  eddied  from 
her  constantly.     Stanton's  and  Van  Berg's  faces  were  aglow 
with  pleasure,  and  it  was  plain  the  speaker  absorbed  all  their 
thoughts. 

"In  the  same  way  he  will  forget  me,  after  I  am  dead," 
said  the  unhappy  girl  to  herself,  and  the  thought  sent  a 
colder  chill  to  her  heart,  and  a  deeper  pallor  to  her  face. 
Her  gaze  seemed  to  draw  his,  for  he  looked  up  sud- 
denly. On  recognizing  her  his  first  impulse  was  to  coldly 
avert  his  eyes,  but  in  a  second  her  unusual  appearance  riv- 
eted his  appearance.  She  saw  the  impulse,  however,  and 
would  not  look  toward  him  again.  She  entered  as  quietly 
and  as  unexpectedly  as  a  ghost,  and  the  people  seemed  as 
much  surprised  and  perplexed  as  if  she  were  a  ghost. 

She  took  a  seat  somewhat  apart  from  all  others,  and  ap- 
parently commenced  reading.  She  was  not  so  far  away  but 
that  Van  Berg  could  decipher  the  title,  "Misjudged,"  and 
having  made  out  the  significant  word,  its  letters  grew  lumi- 
nous like  the  diamonds  in  her  hair. 

Never  before  had  he  been  so  impressed  by  her  beauty, 


DESPERATELY    WOUNDED  279 

and  yet  there  was  an  element  in  it  which  made  him  shiver 
with  a  dread  he  could  not  explain  to  himself.  He  was  sur- 
prised and  shocked  to  find  how  pale  and  wan  her  face  had 
become,  but  in  every  severe  marble  curve  of  her  features  he 
saw  the  word,  "Misjudged."  He  could  now  scarcely  recog- 
nize her  as  the  blooming  girl  that  he  had  first  seen  in  the 
concert-garden.  Suffering,  trouble  of  mind,  was  evidently 
the  dark  magician  that  was  thus  transforming  her;  but  why 
did  she  suffer  so  deeply  ?  As  she  sat  there  before  him,  not 
only  his  deeper  instincts,  but  his  reason  refused  almost  in- 
dignantly to  associate  her  any  longer  with  Sibley.  There 
was  a  time  when  she  seemed  akin  to  him;  but  now  she  sug- 
gested deep  trouble,  despair,  death  even,  rather  than  a  gross 
hon  vivanL  Was  she  ill!  Yes,  evidently,  but  he  doubted 
if  her  malady  had  physical  causes. 

"What  a  very  strange  toilet  she  has  made!"  he  thought; 
"simple  and  plain  to  the  last  degree,  and  yet  singularly  ef- 
fective and  striking.  Her  fingers  were  once  loaded  with 
rings,  but  she  has  taken  them  all  off,  and  now  her  hands 
are  as  perfect  as  her  features.  She  does  not  wear  a  single 
ornament,  save  those  ominous  poniards.  Does  she  mean  to 
signify  by  these  that  she  is  wounded,  or  that  she  proposes 
to  inflict  wounds?  Ye  gods!  how  strangely,  terribly,  ex- 
asperatingly  beautiful  she  is!  I  have  certainly  both  mis- 
judged and  misunderstood  her." 

These  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind  as  he  stole  an 
occasional  glance  at  their  object,  who  sat  with  her  profile 
toward  him  almost  in  the  line  of  his  vision.  At  the  same 
time  he  was  apparently  listening  to  a  prosy  and  intermi- 
nable story  from  one  of  the  group  of  which  he  was  a  mem- 
ber. They  had  been  telling  anecdotes  of  travel,  and  the 
last  speaker's  experience  was,  like  his  journey,  long  and 
uninteresting. 

Van  Berg  soon  observed  that  many  others  besides  him- 
self were  observing  Miss  Mayhew.  She  seemed  to  fascinate, 
perplex,  and  trouble  all  who  looked  toward  her.  The  sin- 
gular beauty  and  striking  toilet  might  account,  in  part,  for 


280  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

the  lingering  glances,  but  not  for  the  perplexity  and  uneasi- 
ness they  caused.  If  Ida  had  been  dead  her  features  could 
not  have  been  more  colorless;  and  they  had  a  stern,  hard, 
desperate  expression  that  was  sadly  out  of  harmony  with 
what  should  be  the  appearance  of  a  happy  young  girl. 

Her  presence  seemed  to  cause  an  increasing  chill  and 
restraint.  The  healthful  and  normal  minds  of  those  about 
her  grew  vaguely  conscious  of  another  mind  that  had  been 
deeply  moved,  shaken  to  its  foundations,  and  so  had  be- 
come most  abnormal  and  dangerous  in  its  impulses. 

There  is  a  very  general  tendency  both  to  observe  and  to 
shrink  from  that  which  is  unnatural,  and  if  the  departure 
from  what  is  customary  is  shown  in  unexpected  and  un- 
usual mental  action,  the  stronger  become  the  uneasiness 
and  dread  in  those  who  witness  it.  All  who  saw  Ida  rec- 
ognized that  she  was  not  only  unlike  herself,  but  unlike 
any  one  in  an  ordinary  state  of  mind,  and  people  who  were 
intimate  looked  at  each  other  significantly,  as  if  to  ask— 
11  What  is  the  matter  with  Miss  Mayhew  ?  What  is  the 
matter  with  us  all?" 

Were  it  not  that  the  maiden  occasionally  turned  a  leaf, 
in  order  to  keep  up  the  illusion  that  she  was  reading,  she 
might  have  been  a  statue,  so  motionless  was  her  form,  and 
so  pallid  her  face.  But  she  felt  that  she  was  perplexing  and 
troubling  those  who  had  wounded  her,  and  the  conscious- 
ness gave  secret  satisfaction.  Her  past  experience  taught 
her  to  appreciate  stage  effect,  and,  since  she  meditated  a 
tragedy,  she  proposed  that  everything  should  be  as  tragic 
and  blood-curdling  as  possible. 

There  is  usually  but  a  short  step  between  high  tragedy 
and  painful  absurdity,  which  exasperates  us  while  we  laugh 
at  it;  but  poor  Ida's  thoughts  were  so  desperately  dark  and 
despairing,  and  her  exquisite  features,  made  almost  trans- 
parent by  grief  and  fasting,  so  perfectly  interpreted  her  un- 
feigned wretchedness,  that  even  those  who  knew  her  but 
slightly  were  touched  and  troubled  in  a  way  that  they 
could  not  explain  even  to  themselves. 


DESPERATELY    WOUNDED  281 

Miss  Burton  was  evidently  meditating  how  she  could 
approach  Ida,  who  seemed  incased  in  a  repellant  atmos- 
phere. Van  Berg  saw  that  Stanton  looked  anxious  and 
perplexed,  and  that  Mrs.  Mayhew  was  exceedingly  worried 
and  annoyed.  At  last  she  hastily  approached  her  daughter 
and  whispered: 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Ida,  what's  the  matter?  You  look 
as  if  you  had  gone  into  mourning." 

The  young  lady  glanced  coldly  up  and  said  stonily: 

"You  have  at  least  taught  me  to  dress  appropriately." 

"Nonsense,"  continued  the  mother,  in  a  low,  irritable 
tone.  "Why  can't  you  cheer  up  and  act  like  other  people? 
Don't  you  see  you're  giving  us  all  the  shivers?" 

She  slowly  swept  the  room  with  her  eyes,  and  saw  that 
not  a  few  curious  glances  were  directed  toward  her.  Then, 
with  bowed  head,  she  glided  from  the  room  without  a  word. 

Miss  Burton  caught  up  with  her  in  the  hallway.  "You 
are  ill,  Miss  Mayhew,"  she  said,  with  gentle  solicitude. 

"Yes,"  Ida  replied,  in  the  same  stony,  repellant  man- 
ner; "but  you  are  not  a  physician,  Miss  Burton.  Good- 
evening."  And  she  went  swiftly  up  to  her  own  room,  as 
if  determined  to  speak  with  no  one  else  that  evening. 


282  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTEE  XXXVI 
temptation's    voice 

VAN  BERG  had  been  so  near  that  he  could  not  help 
overhearing  Mrs.  Mayhew's  words  which  had  led  to 
the  abrupt  and  silent  departure  of  her  daughter  from 
the  parlor. 

"There  is  some  misunderstanding  here,"  he  thought, 
41  whose  effects  are  becoming  outrageously  cruel.  The  poor 
girl  was  driven  away  from  the  supper-table,  and  now  she  is 
driven  out  of  the  parlor.  She  has  been  an  anomaly  from 
the  moment  I  saw  her,  and  I  now  mean  to  fathom  the  mys- 
tery. Her  exquisite  face  indicates  that  she  is  almost  des- 
perate from  some  kind  of  trouble.  She  is  becoming  ill — 
she  is  wasting  under  it.  Sibley  would  be  a  fatal  malady  to 
any  respectable  girl,  but  I  must  give  up  all  pretence  of  skill 
at  diagnosis  if  he  is  the  cause;  for  were  her  heart  set  on  him 
why  the  mischief  can't  she  go  to  him  with  all  her  old  reck- 
less flippancy  ?  There  is  no  need  of  any  elopement,  as  Ik 
fears.  She  can  easily  compel  her  mother  to  go  to  the  city, 
and  her  father  would  have  no  power  to  prevent  the  alliance, 
were  she  bent  upon  it.  I  believe  her  family  misunderstand 
and  are  wronging  her,  and  I  may  have  occasion  to  go  down 
on  my  knees  myself,  metaphorically,  and  ask  her  pardon  for 
my  superior  airs. ' ' 

These  and  kindred  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind  as 
he  slowly  paced  up  and  down  a  side  piazza  which  he  often 
sought  when  he  wished  to  be  alone.  Stanton,  having  lost 
Miss  Burton  for  the  evening,  soon  joined  him,  and  threw 
himself  dejectedly  into  a  chair. 


TEMPTATION'S    VOICE  288 

"Van,"  he  said,  "I  used  to  be  rather  self-complacent. 
I  thought  I  had  learned  to  take  life  so  philosophically  that 
I  should  have  a  good  time  as  long  as  mj  health  lasted. 
But  to-night  I  feel  as  if  life  were  a  horribly  heavy  burden 
which  I,  an  overladen  jackass,  must  carry  for  many  a  weary 
day.  How  little  we  know  what  we  are  and  what  is  before 
us!     I've  been  a  fool;  I  am  a  fool!" 

"Well,  Ik,"  replied  Van  Berg  with  a  shrug,  "I  imagine 
there  is  a  pair  of  us.  My  reason — all  that's  decent  in  me — 
refuses  to  regard  Sibley  as  the  cause  of  your  cousin's  most 
evident  distress.  For  heaven's  sake  don't  confirm  your 
words  of  this  afternoon,  or  1  shall  feel  like  taking  the  first 
train,  in  oider  to  escape  from  the  most  exasperating  paradox 
that  ever  contradicted  a  man's  senses." 

"Van,  you  are  right.  I  am  mortified  with  myself  beyond 
measure,  and  I  am  bitterly  ashamed  that  my  aunt,  her  own 
mother,  should  have  so  grossly  misjudged  her.  Sibley,  no 
doubt,  is  the  occasion  of  her  trouble  in  part,  for  she  seems 
fairly  to  writhe  under  the  false  position  in  which  he  has 
placed  her  by  leaving  every  one  to  associate  her  name  with 
his;  but  I  now  believe  that  she  loathes  and  detests  him 
more  than  you  or  I  can.  Certainly  no  woman  could  speak 
of  a  man  in  harsher  or  more  scathing  terms  than  she  spoke 
of  him  to-night.  Well,  to  sum  up  the  whole  miserable 
truth,  by  taking  her  mother's  view  for  granted,  I  made 
such  a  mess  of  it  that  I  doubt  if  she  ever  speaks  civilly  to 
either  of  us  again." 

"Why!  was  my  name  mentioned?"  asked  Van  Berg, 
quickly. 

"Yes,  confound  it  all!  When  things  are  going  wrong 
there  is  a  miserable  fatality  about  them,  and  the  worst  al- 
ways happens.  She  asked  me  pointblank  if  you  shared 
in  my  estimate  of  her,  and  I  suppose  got  the  impression 
you  did." 

"Well,  really,  Stanton,"  said  Van  Berg,  with  some  irri- 
tation, "I  think  you  must  have  been  unfortunate  in  your 
language." 


284  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"Worse  than  unfortunate.  The  whole  blunder  is  un- 
pardonable. Still,  do  me  justice.  I  could  not  answer  her 
question  with  a  bald  lie.  And  what  would  have  been  its 
use  ?  How  could  you  explain  your  bearing  toward  her  at 
the  supper-table  ?  Your  manner  would  have  frozen  Jezebel 
herself." 

"I  was  an  infernal  fool,"  groaned  Van  Berg. 

"It  is  due  to  us  both  that  I  should  say  I  told  her  you 
had  tried  to  form  a  good  opinion  of  her,  and  very  reluct- 
antly received  the  view  her  mother  suggested.  I  said,  in 
effect,  you  wished  to  think  well  of  her,  although  she  had 
treated  you  so  badly." 

"Treated  me  badly  I  I  have  treated  her  a  thousand-fold 
worse.  She,  at  least,  has  never  insulted  me,  and  I  can 
never  forgive  myself  for  the  insult  I  have  offered  her." 

"Well,  I  hope  to  find  her  in  the  mood  to  accept  an  apol- 
ogy in  the  morning, ' '  said  Stanton. 

"I'm  in  a  confoundedly  awkward  position  to  apologize," 
growled  Van  Berg.  "Any  reference  to  such  an  affair  will 
be  like  another  insult;"  and  the  friends  parted  in  an  unsat- 
isfactory state  of  mind  toward  each  other,  and  especially 
toward  themselves. 

But  that  was  a  sad  and  memorable  night  to  Ida  Mayhew. 
She  felt  that  it  might  be  her  last  on  earth;  for  her  dark  pur- 
pose was  rapidly  taking  definite  form. 

She  was  passing  into  that  unhealthful  condition  of  men- 
tal excitement,  in  which  the  salutary  restraints  of  the  physi- 
cal nature  lose  their  power.  In  the  place  of  drowsiness  and 
weariness,  she  began  to  experience  an  unnatural  exaltation 
which  would  make  any  reckless  folly  possible,  if  it  took  the 
guise  of  sublime  and  tragic  action. 

Few  realize  to  what  a  degree  the  mind  can  become 
warped  and  disordered,  even  within  a  brief  time,  by  trouble 
and  the  violation  of  the  laws  of  health;  and  some,  by  edu- 
cation and  temperament,  are  peculiarly  predisposed  to  ab- 
normal conditions.  Science  has  taught  men  how  to  build 
ships  with  water-tight   compartments,   so    that   if   disaster 


TEMPTATION'S    VOICE  285 

crushes  in  on  one  side,  the  other  parts  may  save  from 
sinking.  There  are  fortunate  people  who  are  built  on  the 
same  safe  principle.  They  have  wealth,  or  the  ability  to 
win  wealth,  strong  family  ties,  and  genuine  friends.  They 
have  cultivated  minds,  and  varied  resources  in  artistic  and 
scientific  pursuits.  Above  all  else,  they  may  have  faith  in 
God  and  a  better  life  to  come;  such  possessions  are  like  the 
compartments  of  a  modern  ship.  Few  disasters  can  destroy 
them  all,  and  in  the  loss  of  one  or  more  the  soul  is  kept 
afloat  by  the  others. 

But  it  would  seem  that  poor  Ida's  character  had  been 
constructed  with  fatal  simplicity,  and  when  the  cold  waves 
of  trouble  rushed  in  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  her  from 
sinking  beneath  them  like  a  stone.  Her  mind  was  unculti- 
vated, °and  art,  science,  literature  offered  her  as  yet  no  re- 
sources, no  pursuits.  She  had  a  woman's  heart  that  might 
have  been  filled  with  sustaining  love,  but  in  its  place  had 
come  a  sudden  and  icy  flood  of  disappointment  and  despair. 
She  loved,  with  all  the  passion  and  simplicity  of  a  narrow, 
yet  earnest  nature,  the  man  who  had  awakened  the  woman 
within  her,  and  he,  she  believed,  would  never  give  her 
aught  in  return,  save  contempt.  She  naturally  thought 
that  she  had  been  degraded  in  his  estimation  beyond  all 
ordinary  means  of  redemption;  therefore,  in  her  desperation 
and  despair,  she  was  ready  to  take  an  extraordinary  method 
of  compelling  at  least  his  respect. 

Moreover,  Ida  was  impatient  and  impetuous  by  nature. 
She  had  a  large  capability  for  action,  but  little  for  endur- 
ance. It  would  be  almost  impossible  for  her  to  reach  wo- 
man's loftiest  heroism,  and  sit  "like  Patience  on  a  monu- 
ment, smiling  at  grief."  It  would  be  her  disposition  rather 
to  rush  forward,  and  dash  herself  against  an  adverse  fate, 
meeting  it  even  more  than  half  way.  All  the  influences  of 
her  life  had  tended  to  develop  imperiousness,  wilfulness, 
and  now  her  impulse  was  to  enter  a  protest  against  her  hard 
lot  that  was  as  passionate  and  reckless  as  it  was  impotent. 
Apart  from  her  supreme  wish  to  fill  Van  Berg  with  re- 


286  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

gret,  and  awaken  in  him  something  like  respect,  the  thought 
of  dragging  on  a  wretched  existence  through  the  indefinite 
years  to  come  was  intolerable.  The  color  had  utterly  faded 
out  of  life,  and  left  it  bald  and  repulsive  to  the  last  degree. 

Fashionable  dissipation  promised  her  nothing.  She  had 
often  tasted  this,  to  the  utmost  limit  of  propriety,  and  was 
well  aware  that  the  gay  whirl  had  nothing  new  to  offer, 
unless  she  plunged  into  the  mad  excitement  of  a  life  which 
is  as  brief  as  it  is  vile.  It  was  to  her  credit  that  death 
seemed  preferable  to  this.  It  was  largely  due  to  her  defec- 
tive training  and  limited  experience,  that  a  useful,  innocent 
life,  even  though  it  promised  to  be  devoid  of  happiness, 
was  so  utterly  repulsive  that  she  was  ready  to  throw  it 
away  in  impatient  disgust. 

As  yet  she  was  incapable  of  Jennie  Burton's  divine  phi- 
losophy of  " pleasing  not"  herself.  He  who  "gave  his  life 
for  others"  was  but  a  name  at  the  pronunciation  of  which, 
in  the  Service,  she  was  accustomed  to  bow  profoundly,  but 
to  whom,  in  her  heart,  she  had  never  bowed  or  offered  a 
genuine  prayer.  Religion  seemed  to  her  a  sort  of  fashion 
which  differed  with  the  tastes  of  different  people.  She  was 
a  practical  atheist. 

It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  permit  a  child  to  grow  up  igno- 
rant of  God,  and  of  the  sacred  principles  of  duty  which 
should  be  inwrought  in  the  conscience,  and  enforced  by 
the  most  vital  considerations  of  well-being,  both  for  this 
world  and   the  world  to  come. 

But  Ida  May  hew  thought  not  of  God  or  duty,  but  only 
of  her  thwarted,  unhappy  life,  from  which  she  shrank 
weakly  and  selfishly,  assuring  herself  that  she  could  not 
and  would  not  endure  it.  In  her  father  she  saw  only  in- 
creasing humiliation;  in  her  mother,  one  for  whom  she  had 
but  little  affection  and  less  respect,  and  who  would  of  neces- 
sity irritate  the  wounds  that  time  might  slowly  heal,  could 
she  live  in  an  atmosphere  of  delicate,  unspoken  sympathy; 
in  herself,  one  whom  she  now  believed  to  be  so  ignorant  and 
faulty  that  the  man  she  loved  had  turned  away  in  disgust 


TEMPTATION'S    VOICE  287 

on  finding  her  out.  If  all  this  were  not  bad  enough,  un- 
foreseen and  unfortunate  circumstances,  even  more  than 
her  own  folly,  had  brought  about  a  humiliation  from  which 
she  felt  she  could  never  recover.  In  her  blind,  desperate 
effort  to  hide  her  passion  from  the  man  she  loved,  she  had 
made  it  appear  that  she  was  infatuated  with  the  man  she 
loathed,  and  who  had  shown  himself  such  a  contemptible 
villain  that  her  association  with  him  was  the  scandal  of  the 
house.  If  her  own  mother  and  cousin  could  believe  that 
she  was  ready  to  throw  herself  away  for  the  sake  of  such 
a  wretch,  what  must  the  people  of  the  hotel  think?  What 
kind  of  a  story  would  go  abroad  among  her  acquaintances 
in  the  city  ?  She  fairly  cringed  and  writhed  at  the  thought 
of  it  all. 

It  seemed  to  the  tortured  and  morbidly  excited  girl  that 
there  was  but  one  way  out  of  her  troubles,  and  dark  and 
dreadful  as  was  that  path,  she  thought  it  could  lead  to  noth- 
ing so  painful  as  that  from  which  she  would  escape. 

But  after  all,  her  chief  incentive  to  the  fatal  act  was  the 
hope  of  securing  Van  Berg's  respect,  and  of  implanting  her- 
self in  his  heart  as  an  undying  memory,  even  though  a  sad 
and  terrible  one.  With  her  ideas  of  the  fitness  of  things 
this  would  be  a  strong  temptation  at  best;  but  the  present 
conditions  of  her  life,  as  we  have  seen,  so  far  from  restrain- 
ing, added  greatly  to  the  temptation. 

And,  as  has  been  said,  while  the  act  seemed  a  stern  and 
dreadful  alternative  to  worse  evils,  it  was  not  revolting  to 
her.  She  had  seen  so  many  of  her  favorite  heroines  in  fic- 
tion and  actresses  on  the  stage  kl shuffle  off  the  mortal  coil" 
with  the  most  appropriate  expressions  and  in  the  most  be- 
coming toilets  and  attitudes,  that  her  perverted  and  melo- 
dramatic taste  led  her  to  believe  that  Van  Berg  would 
regard  her  crime  as  a  sublime  vindication  of  her  honor. 

Her  only  task  now,  therefore,  was  to  frame  a  letter  that 
would  best  accomplish  this  end,  and  at  the  same  time  wring 
his  soul  with  unavailing  regret. 

But  she  was  too  sincere  and  sad  to  write  diffusely  and 


288  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

vaguely.     After  a  few  moments'  thought  she  rapidly  traced 
the  following  lines: 

"Mr.  Van  Berg— You  first  saw  me  at  a  concert,  and  your  judgment  of  me 
was  correct,  though  severe.  Your  eyes  have  since  been  very  cold  and  critical. 
I  have  followed  your  exploring  glances,  and  have  found  that  I  am,  indeed, 
ignorant  and  imperfect — that  I  was  like  the  worm-eaten  rose  bud  that  you 
tossed  contemptuously  down  where  it  would  be  trampled  underfoot.  Seldom 
is  that  unfortunate  little  emblem  of  myself  out  of  my  thoughts.  If  I  dared  to 
appeal  to  God  I  would  say  that  he  knows  that  I  would  have  tried  to  bloom  into 
a  better  life,  even  though  imperfectly,  if  some  one  had  only  thought  it  worth 
the  while  to  show  me  how.  It  is  too  late  now.  Like  my  counterpart,  that 
you  threw  away,  I  shall  soon  be  forgotten  dust. 

"Although  your  estimate  has  been  so  harsh,  I  will  not  dispute  it.  Circum- 
stances have  been  against  me  from  the  first,  and  my  own  folly  has  added 
whatever  was  wanting  to  confirm  your  unfavorable  opinion.  But  to-day  your 
thoughts  wronged  me  cruelly.  You  have  slain  all  hope  and  self-  respect.  I  do 
not  feel  that  I  can  live  after  seeing  an  honorable  man  look  at  me  as  you  looked 
this  evening.  You  believed  me  capable  of  flying  to  the  man  who  attempted 
your  life— who  insulted  an  orphan  girl.  You  looked  at  me,  not  as  a  lady,  but 
an  object  beneath  contempt.  This  is  a  humiliation  that  I  cannot  and  will  not 
survive.  When  you  know  that  I  have  sought  death  rather  than  the  villain 
with  whom  you  are  associating  me,  you  may  think  of  me  more  favorably.  Pos- 
sibly the  memory  of  Ida  Mayhew  may  lead  you,  when  again  you  see  a  worm- 
eaten  bud,  to  kill  the  destroyer  and  help  the  flower  to  bloom  as  well  as  it  can. 
But  now,  like  my  emblem,  I  have  lost  my  one  chance." 

The  night  was  now  far  spent.  Her  mother,  having  been 
refused  admittance,  had  fumed  and  fretted  herself  to  sleep. 
The  house  was  very  still.  She  opened  her  window  and 
looked  out.  Clouds  obscured  the  stars,  and  it  was  exceed- 
ingly dark. 

"The  long  night  to  which  I'm  going  will  be  darker 
still,"  sighed  the  unhappy  girl.  "Well,  I  will  live  one 
more  day.  To-morrow  I  will  go  out  and  sit  in  the  sunlight 
once  more.  I  wish  I  could  go  now,  for  already  I  seem  to 
feel  the  chill  of  death.  Oh,  how  cold  I  shall  be  by  this 
time  to-morrow  night!" 

She  shuddered  as  she  closed  the  window. 

After  pacing  her  room  a  few  moments,  she  exclaimed, 
recklessly: 

"I  must  sleep — I  must  get  through  with  the  time  until 


TEMPTATION'S    VOICE  289 

I  bring  time  to  an  end,"  and  she  dropped  a  powerful  opiate 

into  a  glass.  . 

Holding  it  up  for  a  moment  with  a  smile  on  her  fair 
young  face  that  was  terrible  beyond  words,  she  said  slowly: 

11  After  all,  it's  only  taking  a  little  more,  and  then— no 
waking." 


13— Roe— XII 


290  A    FACE   ILLUMINED, 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

VOICES   OF   NATURE 

BEFORE  retiring,  Ida  had  unfastened  her  door,  so  that 
her  mother,  rinding  her  sleeping,  might  leave  her 
undisturbed  as  late  as  possible  the  following  day; 
and  the  sun  was  almost  in  mid-heaven  before  she  began 
slowly  to  revive  from  her  lethargy. 

But  as  her  stupor  departed  she  became  conscious  of  such 
acute  physical  and  mental  suffering  that  she  almost  wished 
she  had  carried  out  her  purpose  the  night  before.  Her 
headache  was  equalled  only  by  her  heartache,  and  her 
wronged,  overtaxed  nervous  system  was  jangling  with  tor- 
turing discord.  But  with  the  persistence  of  a  simple 
and  positive  nature  she  resolved  to  carry  out  the  tragic 
programme  that  she  had  already  arranged. 

She  was  glad  to  find  herself  alone.  Her  mother,  with 
her  usual  sagacity,  had  concluded  that  she  would  sleep  off 
her  troubles  as  she  often  had  before,  and  so  left  her  to 

herself. 

The  poor,  lost  child  made  some  pathetic  attempts  to  put 
her  little  house  in  order.  She  destroyed  all  her  letters. 
She  arranged  her  drawers,  with  many  sudden  rushes  of  tears 
as  various  articles  called  up  memories  of  earlier  and  happier 
days.  Among  other  things  she  came  across  a  little  birthday 
present  that  her  father  had  given  her  when  she  was  but  six 
years  of  age,  and  she  vividly  recalled  the  happy  child  she 
was  that  day. 

41  Oh,  that  I  had  died  then!"  she  sobbed.  "What  a 
wretched   failure  my   life    has    been!      Never   was    there 


VOICES    OF   NATURE  291 

a  fitter  emblem  than  the  imperfect  flower  he  threw  away. 
I  wish  1  could  find  the  poor,  withered,  trampled  thing, 
and  that  he  might  find  it  in  my  hand  with  his  letter.'1 

She  wrote  a  farewell  to  her  father  that  was  inexpressibly 
sad,  in  which  she  humbly  asked  his  forgiveness,  and  en- 
treated him,  as  her  dying  wish,  to  cease  destroying  himself 
with  liquor. 

"But  it  is  of  no  use,"  she  moaned.  "He  has  lost  hope 
and  courage  like  myself,  and  one  can't  bear  trouble  for 
which  there  is  no  remedy.  I'm  afraid  my  act  will  only 
make  him  do  worse;  but  I  can't  help  it." 

To  her  mother  she  wrote  merely,  "Good-by.  Think  of 
me  as  well  as  you  can  till  I  am  forgotten. 

Her  thoughts  of  her  mother  were  very  bitter,  for  she  felt 
that  she  had  been  neglected  as  a  child,  and  permitted  to 
grow  up  so  faulty  and  superficial  that  she  repelled  the  man 
her  beauty  might  have  aided  her  in  winning;  and  it  was 
chiefly  through  her  mother  that  her  last  bitter  and  un- 
endurable humiliation  had  come. 

Mrs.  Mayhew  bustled  in  from  her  drive  with  Stanton, 
just  before  dinner,  and  commenced  volubly: 

"Glad  to  see  you  up  and  looking  so  much  better."  (Ida 
knew  she  was  almost  ghastly  pale  from  the  effects  of  the 
opiate  and  her  distress,  but  she  recognized  her  mother's 
tactics.)  "Come  now,  go  down  with  me  and  make  a  good 
dinner;  then  a  drive  this  afternoon,  to  which  Ik  has  invited 
you,  and  you  will  look  like  your  old  beautiful  self." 

"I  do  not  wish  to,  look  like  my  old  self,"   said  Ida, 

coldly. 

"Who  in  the  world  ever  looked  better?" 

"Every  one  who  had  a  cultivated  mind  and  a  clear 
conscience." 

"I  declare,  Ida,  you've  changed  so  since  you  came  to 
the  country  that  I  can't  understand  you  at  all." 

"Do  not  try  to  any  longer,  mother,  for  you  never  will." 

"Won't  you  go  down  to  dinner?" 

"No." 


292  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"Why  not?" 

"I  don't  wish  to,  for  one  thing;  and  I'm  too  ill,  for  an- 
other.   Send  me  up  something,  if  it's  not  too  much  trouble. " 

"I'm  going  to  have  a  doctor  see  you  this  very  afternoon, ' 
said  Mrs.  Mayhew,  emphatically,  as  she  left  the  room. 

To  do  her  justice  she  did  send  up  a  very  nice  dinner  to 
Ida  before  eating  her  own.  As  far  as  doctors  and  dinners 
were  concerned,  she  could  do  her  whole  duty  in  an  emer- 
gency. 

"Isn't  Ida  coming  down?"    whispered  Stanton  to  his 

aunt. 

"No.  I  can't  make  her  out  at  all,  and  she  looks  dread- 
fully.    You  must  go  for  a  doctor,  right  after  dinner." 

Van  Berg  could  not  hear  their  words,  but  their  ominous 
looks  added  greatly  to  his  disquietude.  He  bad  been  too 
ill  at  ease  to  seek  even  Miss  Burton's  society  during  the 
morning,  and  had  spent  the  time  in  making  a  sketch  of  Ida 
as  she  stood  in  the  doorway  before  entering  the  parlor 
the  previous  evening. 

But  Jennie  Burton  did  not  seem  to  feel  or  resent  his 
neglect  in  the  slightest  degree.  Indeed,  her  thoughts,  like 
his  own,  were  apparently  engrossed  with  the  one  whose 
chair  had  been  vacant  so  often  of  late,  and  who,  when 
present,  seemed  so  unlike  her  former  self. 

"I  fear  your  daughter  is  more  seriously  indisposed  than 
you  think,"  she  said  anxiously  to  Mrs.  Mayhew. 

"I'm  going  to  take  Ida  in  hand,"  replied  the  matter-of- 
fact  lady.  "She  is  ill— far  more  so  than  she'll  admit.  I'm 
going  to  have  the  doctor  at  once  and  put  her  under  a  course 
of  treatment. ' ' 

"Curse  it  all!"  thought  Van  Berg,  "that  is  just  the 
trouble.  She  has  been  under  a  course  of  treatment  that 
would  make  any  woman  ill,  save  her  mother,  and  I'm  in- 
clined to  think  that  I  was  the  veriest  quack  of  them  all  in 
my  treatment." 

"I  wish  she  would  let  me  call  upon  her  this  afternoon," 
said  Miss  Burton,  gently. 


VOICES    OF   NATURE  293 

"Oil,  I  think  she'll  be  glad  to  see  you !— at  least  she  ought 
to  be;"  but  it  was  evident  that  Mrs.  May  hew  was  at  last  be- 
ginning to  grow  very  anxious,  and  she  made  a  simpler  meal 
than  usual.  Stanton,  in  his  solicitude,  hastened  through  his 
dinner,  and  started  at  once  for  the  physician  who  usually 
attended  the  guests  of  the  house. 

Ida,  in  the  meantime,  had  forced  herself  to  eat  a  little  of 
the  food  sent  to  her,  and  then  informing  the  woman  who 
had  charge  of  their  floor  that  she  was  going  out  for  a  walk, 
stole  dowo  and  out  unperceived,  and  soon  gained  a  secluded 
path  that  led  into  an  extensive  tract  of  woodland. 

Stanton  brought  the  doctor  promptly,  but  no  patient 
could  be  found.  All  that  could  be  learned  was  that  "Miss 
Mayhew  had  gone  for  a  walk." 

11  Her  case  cannot  be  very  critical, "  the  physician  re- 
marked, smilingly;  tkI  will  call  again." 

Stanton  and  his  aunt  looked  at  each  other  in  a  way  that 
proved  the  case  was  beginning  to  trouble  them  seriously. 

"She  knew  the  doctor  would  be  here,"  said  Mrs. Mayhew. 

"I  fear  her  camplaint  is  one  that  the  doctors  can't  help, 
and  that  she  knows  it,"  replied  the  young  man,  gloomily. 
"But  you  seem  to  know  less  about  her  than  any  one  else. 
I  shall  try  to  find  her." 

But  he  did  not  succeed. 

"Miss  Burton,"  said  Van  Berg,  after  dinner,  "I  wish  you 
would  call  on  Miss  Mayhew.  I  think  she  is  greatly  in  need 
of  a  little  of  your  inimitable  tact  and  skill.  lA  wounded 
spirit  who  can  bear  ?'  And  in  such  an  emergency,  you  are 
the  best  surgeon  I  know  of.  I  think  some  of  us  wounded 
her  deeply  and  unpardonably  by  continuing  to  associate  her 
with  Sibley,  after  he  revealed  what  an  unmitigated  rascal 
he  was.  Strong  as  appearances  were  against  her,  I  feel  that 
I  cannot  forgive  myself  that  I  took  anything  for  granted  in 
a  case  like  that. ' ' 

"I  am  glad,"  she  answered,  "that  you  have  come  to  my 
own  conclusion,  that  Miss  Mayhew,  with  all  her  faults,  is 
too  good  a  girl  to  be  guilty  of  a  passion  for  a  man  like 


294  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

Sibley.  If  she  regards  him  in  any  such  way  as  I  do,  I  do 
not  wonder  that  it  has  made  her  ill  to  be  so  misjudged. 
I  must  plead  guilty  also  to  having  wronged  her  in  my 
thoughts.  While  I  try  to  exercise  the  broadest  charity,  my 
calling,  as  a  teacher,  has  brought  me  in  contact  with  many 
girls  that — through  immaturity  and  innate  foolishness — are 
guilty  of  conduct  that  taxes  one's  faith  in  human  nature 
severely.  Goodish  sort  of  girls  are  sometimes  infatuated 
with  very  bad  men.  I  suppose  it  is  evident  to  all  that  Miss 
Mayhew's  early  and,  indeed,  present  influences  are  sadly 
against  her;  but  unfortunate  as  have  been  her  associations 
of  late,  I  am  coming  to  the  belief  that,  however  faulty  she 
may  be,  she  is  not  naturally  either  silly  or  weak.  But  my 
acquaintance  with  her  is  very  slight,  and  I  must  confess 
I  do  not  understand  her  very  well.  For  some  reason  she 
shuns  me  and  has  evidently  disliked  me  from  the  first. ' ' 

"I  don't  understand  her  at  all,"  said  Van  Berg,  in  a  tone 
that  proved  him  greatly  annoyed  with  himself.  "I  have 
thought  that  I  had  sounded  the  shallow  depths  of  her  char- 
acter several  times,  and  then  some  new  and  perplexing 
phase  would  present  itself,  and  put  me  all  at  sea  again. 
It  may  seem  ludicrous  to  you  that  her  beauty  should  irri- 
tate me  so  greatly  because  of  its  incongruous  associations. 

"Not  at  all,"  she  replied,  with  a  little  nod.  "I  was  not 
long  in  discovering  that  you  were  a  pagan,  and  that  beauty 
was  your  divinity. ' ' 

"Correct  in  all  respects  save  the  divinity,"  he  answered 
promptly;  and  he  would  have  said  more,  but  she  passed 
into  the  parlor  among  the  other  guests. 

Ida  found  herself  too  weak  and  unnerved  to  walk  far, 
but  she  discovered  a  secluded  nook  into  which  the  sunlight 
streamed  with  a  grateful  warmth;  for  although  the  day  was 
warm,  she  shivered  with  cold  as  if  the  chill  in  her  heart  had 
diffused  itself  even  to  her  hands  and  feet.  Dense  shrubbery 
hid  her  from  the  path  along  which  she  saw  Stanton  pass  in 
his  fruitless  quest. 

For  a  long  time  she  sat  in  dreary  apathy,  almost  as 


VOICES    OF   NATURE  295 

motionless  as  the  mossy  rock  beneath  her,  and  was  con- 
scious only  of  her  throbbing  forehead  and  aching  heart. 
Gradually,  however,  nature's  vital  touch  began  to  revive 
her.     The  sunlight  warmed  and  tranquillized  the  exquisite 
form  that  had  been  entering  its  shuddering  protest  against 
the  chill  and  corruption  of  the  grave.     The  south  wind, 
laden  with  fresh  woodland  odors,  fanned   her  cheeks,  and 
whispered  that  there  were  flowers  blooming  that  she  could 
not  see,  and  that  the  future  also  might  reveal  joys  now  hid- 
den and  unknown,  if  she  would  only  be  patient.     Every 
rustling  leaf  that  fluttered  in   the  gale,   but  did  not  fall, 
called  to  her  with  its  tiny  voice:  ki Cling  to  your  place,  as 
we  do,  till  the  frost  of  age  or  the  blight  of  disease  brings 
the  end  in  God's  own  time  and  way."     A  partridge  with 
her  brood  rustled  by  along  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and  the 
poor  girl  imagined  she  saw  in  the  parent  bird,  as  she  led 
forward  her  plump  little  bevy,  the  pride  and  complacency 
of  a  happy  motherhood,  which  now  would  never  be  hers; 
and  from  the  depths  of  her  woman's  heart  came  nature's 
protest.     Then  her  heavy  eyes  were  attracted  by  the  sport 
of  two  gray  squirrels  that  were  racing  to  the  top  of  one 
tree,  scrambling  down  another,  falling  and  catching  again, 
and  tumbling   over   each   other  in  their   mad   excitement. 
She  felt  that,  at  her  age,   their  exuberant  life  and  enjoy- 
ment should  be  a  type  of  her  own,  but  their  wild,  innocent 
fun,  in  contrast  with  her  despair,   became  so  unendurable 
that  she  sprang  up  and  frightened  them  away. 

But  after  she  was  quiet  they  soon  returned,  barking 
vociferously,  and  sporting  with  their  old  abandon.  It  was 
not  long  since  they  had  left  the  nest  in  the  old  hemlock 
tree,  and  they  were  still  like  Ida,  before  she  had  learned 
that  there  was  anything  in  the  world  that  could  harm  her. 
Other  wild  creatures  flew  or  scampered  by,  some  stopping 
to  look  at  her  with  their  bright,  quick  eyes,  as  if  wondering 
why  she  was  so  still  and  sad.  The  woods  seemed  full  of 
joyous  midsummer  life,  and  Ida  sighed: 

4 'Innocent,  happy  little  things;  but  if  they  knew  what 


296  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

was  in  my  heart,  they  would  be  so  frightened  they  could 
scarcely  creep  away  to  hide." 

Then,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  passionate  grief,  she  cried: 

"Oh,  why  cannot  I  live  and  be  happy,  too?"  and  she 
sobbed  till  she  lay  exhausted  on  the  mossy  rock. 

Whether  she  he  had  swooned,  or  from  weakness  had  be- 
come unconscious,  she  did  not  know,  when,  considerably 
later,  she  roused  herself  from  what  seemed  like  a  heavy  and 
unrefreshing  sleep.  Her  dress  was  damp  with  dew,  the  sun 
had  sunk  so  low  as  to  fill  the  forest  with  a  sombre  shade; 
the  happy  life  that  had  sported  around  her  was  hushed  and 
hidden,  and  the  wind  now  sighed  mournfully  through  the 
trees.  Gloom  and  darkening  shadows  had  taken  the  place 
of  the  light  and  joyousness  she  first  had  seen.  In  the  face 
and  voices  of  nature,  as  in  those  of  earthly  friends,  the 
changes  are  often  so  great  that  we  are  tempted  to  ask  in 
dismay,  are  they — can  they  be  the  same? 

She  was  stiff  and  cold  as  she  rose  from  her  rocky  couch, 
but  she  wearily  turned  her  face  toward  the  hotel,  mutter- 
ing, as  she  plodded  heavily  along: 

"The  little  people  of  the  woods  are  happy  while  they 
can  be,  as  I  was,  but  the  sportsman's  gun,  or  the  hawk,  or 
winter's  cold,  will  soon  bring  to  them  bitter  pain,  and 
death.     Their  brief  day  will  soon  be  over,  as  mine  is." 

"Ah,  the  sun  is  sinking  behind  that  cloud,"  she  said,  in 
a  low  tone,  as  she  came  out  into  the  open  fields.  "I  shall 
not  see  it  again;  it  will  not  be  able  to  warm  me  to-morrow;" 
and  with  a  slight  gesture  of  farewell,  she  continued  on  her 
way  with  bowed  head. 


A    GOOD    MAN   SPEAKS  297 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

A      GOOD      MAN      SPEAKS 

AS  Ida  approached  the  hotel,  Van  Berg  and  Stanton 
saw  her,  and  the  latter  hastened  down  the  steps  to 
join  her. 

"Why,  Ida!"  he  exclaimed,  "where  have  you  been? 
I've  searched  for  you  high  and  low." 

11  You  had  no  right  to  do  so,  sir,"  she  said  coldly,  as  she 
passed  on. 

14  Wait  a  moment,  Ida,  please.  I  wish  to  speak  with 
you — to  ask  your  pardon — to  apologize  in  the  strongest 
terms. ' ' 

She  would  not  break  again  her  ominous  silence,  but  con- 
tinued on  with  bowed  head,  up  the  steps,  and  through  the 
hall.  Stanton,  to  save  appearances  before  the  guests  who 
were  near,  walked  at  her  side,  but  her  manner  chilled  and 
embarrassed  him  so  greatly,  that  only  as  she  was  about 
to  enter  her  room  did  he  again  address  her,  and  now 
entreatingly: 

"Ida,  won't  you  speak  to  me?" 

"No!"  was  her  stern,  brief  response;  and  she  locked 
her  door  against  him. 

"Van,"  said  Stanton,  gloomily,  "I'd  give  a  year's  in- 
come if  I  had  not  spoken  to  my  cousin  as  I  did  last  night. 
She'll  never  forgive  me.  It  seems  as  if  my  words  had 
turned  her  into  ice,  she  is  so  cold  and  calm ;  and  yet  her 
eyes  were  red  with  weeping.  I  have  strange  misgivings 
about  the  girl." 

"Yes,  Ik,"  said  the  artist,  gloomily,  "we  have  both  made 


298  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

an  unpardonable  blunder.     If  Miss  Burton  cannot  thaw  her 
out,  I  shall  not  dare  to  try." 

"With  her  usual  perversity,"  replied  Stanton,  "she  dis- 
likes Miss  Burton,  and  I  doubt  if  she  will  listen  to  her." 

"I  have  great  faith  in  her  tact  and  genuine  goodwill.  It 
was  wonderful  how  quickly  she  brought  Mr.  May  hew  under 
her  genial  spells.  She  has  promised  to  see  your  cousin  this 
evening." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Stanton,  gloomily,  "that  it  should  have 
been  at  your  request  rather  than  mine.  But  I  suppose  your 
wishes  are  becoming  omnipotent  with  her." 

"No,  Ik;  I  regret  to  say  that  they  weigh  with  her  only 
as  those  of  a  friend,"  was  Van  Berg's  quiet  response. 

"Well,  well,  Van,  bear  with  me,  for  I'm  in  a  devil  of 
a  scrape. ' ' 

Even  Miss  Burton's  efforts  could  not  brighten  the 
clouded  faces  that  gathered  at  the  supper-table.  In  truth, 
her  attempts  were  brief  and  fitful,  for  she  seemed  ab- 
sorbed in  thought  herself.  She  heard  Mrs.  Mayhew  whisper 
to  Stanton : 

"If  I  were  a  perfect  stranger  she  could  not  keep  me  at 
a  greater  distance.    I  can  do  nothing  with  her  or  for  her." 

To  their  surprise,  Ida  quietly  walked  in  and  took  her 
place.  Her  face  was  very  grave  and  very  pale;  the  traces 
of  her  grief  were  still  apparent,  and  they  caused  in  Van 
Berg  the  severest  compunction.  She  was  now  dressed 
richly,  but  plainly  and  unobtrusively.  Her  manner  was 
quiet  and  self-possessed,  but  there  was  an  expression  of 
desperate  trouble  in  her  eyes  that  soon  filled  Van  Berg 
with  a  strong  and  increasing  uneasiness.  She  returned  his 
bow  politely,  but  distantly.  Poor  Stanton  scarcely  dared 
to  look  toward  her.  At  supper,  on  the  previous  evening, 
he  had  taken  no  pains  to  conceal  his  contempt  and  displeas- 
ure; now  he  was  unable  to  hide  his  embarrassment  and  fear. 
As  in  the  parlor  on  the  previous  evening,  so  now  again  there 
was  an  element  in  Ida  Mayhew's  appearance  or  in  herself  that 
caused  deep  disquietude. 


A    GOOD    MAN   SPEAKS  299 

"I'm  very  glad,  Ida,  you've  changed  your  mind  and 
come  down,"  began  Mrs.  May  hew,  volubly. 

"1  have  not  changed  my  mind,"  she  replied,  with  such 
sad,  stern  emphasis  that  they  all  involuntarily  looked  at  her 
for  a  moment. 

Poor  Mrs.  May  hew  was  so  quenched  and  depressed  that 
she  did  not  venture  to  speak  again. 

Only  Miss  Burton  was  able  to  maintain  her  self-posses- 
sion and  tact,  and  she  was  intently  but  unobtrusively  study- 
ing Miss  Mayhew.  Her  college  life  had  made  her  acquainted 
with  so  many  strange  feminine  problems  that  she  had  the 
nerve  and  experience  of  a  veteran,  but  she  could  not  pene- 
trate the  dark  mystery  in  which  Ida  had  now  shrouded  her- 
self. Resolving,  however,  that  she  would  not  succumb  to 
the  chill  and  restraint  that  paralyzed  the  others,  she  per- 
sisted in  conversing  with  her  in  simple,  natural  tones. 

Ida  replied  in  perfect  courtesy  and  not  with  unnecessary 
brevity,  but  if  her  words  were  polished,  they  were  also  as 
cold  and  hard  as  ice.  Nothing  that  Miss  Burton  said 
could  bring  the  glimmer  of  a  smile  athwart  her  features 
that  were  growing  so  thin  and  transparent  that  even  an 
approach  to  a  pleasant  thought  would  have  lighted  them 
up  with  a  momentary  gleam.  Miss  Burton  found  her  task 
a  difficult  one. 

"She  affected  me  as  strangely,"  she  afterward  said  to 
Van  Berg,  l4as  if  a  dead  maiden  were  sitting  at  my  side, 
who  had  still,  by  some  horrible  mystery,  the  power  of 
speech." 

As  for  Van  Berg,  he  had  hitherto  supposed  that  his 
quiet,  well-bred  ease  would  be  equal  to  every  social  emer- 
gency, but  he  now  found  himself  tongue-tied  and  embar- 
rassed to  the  last  degree.  He  could  not  speak  to  the  woman 
whom  he  felt  he  had  so  deeply  wronged  in  his  thoughts  and 
manner,  and  who  was  also  aware  of  the  fact.  He  felt  that 
he  had  no  right  to  speak  to  her  until  he  had  first  asked  and 
secured  her  forgiveness.  This  could  not  be  done  in  public, 
and   he  greatly  doubted  whether   she  ever  would  pardon 


300  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

him.  As  a  chivalric  man  of  honor,  he  was  overwhelmed 
with  a  sense  of  the  insult  he  had  unwittingly  offered  to  the 
maiden  opposite  him,  who  now  appeared  as  if  mortally 
wounded.  Beyond  a  few  forced  remarks  to  Stanton  and 
Miss  Burton,  he  made  a  show  of  eating  his  supper  in  si- 
lence. But  he  longed  to  escape  from  his  present  ordeal, 
and  resolved  to  leave  the  table  as  soon  as  appearances 
permitted. 

One  thing  in  Ida's  manner  perplexed  him  greatly.  She 
now  looked  at  him  as  if  he  were  an  object,  scrupling  not  to 
meet  his  eye  with  her  strange,  unwavering  gaze.  There 
was  nothing  of  the  haughty  indifference  which  she  had 
manifested  the  evening  before  in  her  occasional  glances. 
She  rather  looked  as  one  who  is  trying  to  fix  an  object  in 
his  memory  that  he  may  carry  an  accurate  picture  of  it 
away  with  him. 

The  thought  crossed  his  mind  more  than  once,  "We 
have  wakened  our  Undine's  sleeping  mind  with  a  ven- 
geance, but  have  jostled  it  so  rudely  that  I  fear  the  frail 
article  is  hopelessly  shattered." 

Miss  Burton  tried  once  more  to  make  the  conversation 
general,  but  her  effort  ended  rather  disastrously. 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,"  she  said,  "I've  been  reading  an  essay 
this  afternon  in  which  the  writer  tries  to  prove  that  science 
has  done  more  for  humanity  than  art  and  religion  combined. 
Now  I  suppose  you  would  be  inclined  to  take  the  same  ground 
in  regard  to  art  that  I  ought  in  respect  to  religion." 

Van  Berg  was  about  to  reply,  when  his  attention  was 
caught  by  a  vivid  gleam  in  the  face  of  Ida,  who  looked 
up  as  if  she  wished  to  speak. 

"I  think  Miss  May  hew  has  an  opinion  on  this  subject," 
he  said,  with  a  bow. 

She  looked  steadily  at  him  as  she  replied  promptly,  "I 
have  a  decided  opinion,  though  I  base  it  on  such  poor  and 
narrow  grounds  as  personal  experience.  I  think  art  is  by 
far  the  most  potent.  It  has  accomplished  for  me  more  than 
science  or  religion  ever  did,  or  could." 


A    GOOD    MAN   SPEAKS  301 

"  What  has  it  done  for  you,  Miss  Mayhew  ?"  he  asked, 
dreading  the  answer. 

11  It  has  filled  me  with  despair,"  she  replied  with  a  glance 
and  tone  which  he  never  afterward  forgot.  Then,  with  the 
same  cold,  quiet  manner  in  which  she  had  come,  she  left  the 
table. 

Van  Berg  turned  very  pale,  for  he  at  once  understood 
her  reference  to  the  emblematic  rosebud  he  had  thrown 
away,  and  his  remark,  "Art  can  tolerate  no  such  imper- 
fection." 

Her  words  and  manner  hopelessly  perplexed  the  others, 
but  Van  Berg  believed  he  had  found  light  on  the  problem 
that  had  hitherto  baffled  him,  but  so  far  from  being  reas- 
sured, he  had  never  been  at  such  bitter  odds  with  himself 
before. 

He  also  soon  after  left  the  table,  hoping  to  find  an  op- 
portunity to  express  his  regret  that  he  had  been  so  harsh  by 
prejudice;  but  Miss  Mayhew  was  not  to  be  found. 

"Can  it  be,"  he  thought,  as  he  strode  off  into  the  shrub- 
bery, "that  I  have  been  blind  to  the  very  effects  that  I  hoped 
to  cause?  Can  it  be  that  she  has  been  made  to  feel  her  im- 
perfection so  keenly,  and  in  such  away  as  to  create  only 
utter  discouragement?  She  evidently  understands  the 
worm-eaten  rosebud  I  tossed  away  to  be  the  emblem  of 
herself.  Oh,  the  curse  of  Phariseeism — the  'holier  than 
thou'  business,  whatever  form  it  takes.  It  has  made  an 
egregious  fool  of  me." 

"But  her  relations  with  Sibley,  confound  it  all!  I  can't 
understand  them.  Why  did  she  associate  with  her  so  con- 
stantly, and  then  say,  'Congenial  society,  or  none  at  all'? 
Seems  to  me  she  ought  to  have  seen  what  he  was  before  he 
showed  his  cloven  feet  so  plainly.  Well,  perhaps  the  most 
rational  as  well  as  charitable  explanation  is  that  her  eyes 
were  opened  to  see  him  in  his  true  colors,  as  well  as  her- 
self. Had  Titania's  eyes  been  disenchanted  when  she  was 
fondling  the  immortal  Weaver,  she  might  have  perished 
with  disgust;  and  it  is  scarcely  strange  that  Miss  Mayhew 


302  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

should  be  ill  on  finding  that  she  was  infatuated  with  a  man 
who  was  both  ass  and  villain.  She  evidently  sees  things 
now  as  they  are,  and  since  her  vision  has  become  so  good, 
I  am  very  sorry  I  do  not  appear  to  better  advantage.  Peo- 
ple who  stalk  along  through  life  with  elevated  noses  are  not 
pleasing  or  edifying  spectacles." 

His  disquietude  soon  caused  him  to  return  to  the  hotel, 
in  hopes  of  seeing  the  object  of  his  thoughts. 

He  had  hardly  reached  the  piazza  before  Ida  appeared, 
dressed  in  a  plain  walking  suit.  She  hesitated  a  moment  in 
the  doorway  as  if  undecided  in  her  course.  A  party  of  gay 
young  people  were  just  starting  on  a  stroll  to  a  neighboring 
village.  With  apparent  hesitancy,  she  said  to  one  of  the 
young  girls: 

"I  have  an  errand  to  the  village;  may  I  walk  with  you 
for  company  ?" 

"Oh,  certainly,"  replied  the  girl,  but  evidently  not  wel- 
coming this  addition  to  their  party,  and  Ida  went  away 
with  them,  but  not  as  one  of  them,  isolated  more,  however, 
by  her  own  manner  than  by  the  bearing  of  her  com- 
panions. 

The  explanation  of  her  action  was  this:  on  opening  her 
drawer  after  returning  to  her  room,  she  found,  with  a  sense 
of  dismay — as  if  a  misfortune  had  occurred  instead  of  an  in- 
cident that  gave  a  chance  for  better  thought — that  in  taking 
the  opiate  the  night  before,  she  had  replaced  the  cork  in  the 
phial  insecurely,  and  that  nearly  all  its  contents  had  oozed 
away.  Some  might  have  regarded  this  incident  as  an  omen 
or  a  providential  interference;  but  Ida  was  neither  supersti- 
tious nor  speculative  in  her  nature;  she  was  positive  and 
wilful,  rather,  and  the  current  of  her  purposes  always  flowed 
strongly,  though  it  might  be  in  narrow  channels. 

"There  is  nothing  left  for  me  to  do,"  she  muttered,  "but 
go  to  the  village.  I  don't  know  whether  Mr.  Burleigh  has 
laudanum,  and  my  asking  for  it  might  excite  suspicion." 

It  was  terrible  to  see  her  fair  young  face  grow  hard  like 
marble  in  her  stern  determination  to  carry  out  her  awful  de- 


A    GOOD    MAN   SPEAKS  303 

sign,  and  the  impress  of  this  remorseless  purpose  filled  Van 
Berg  with  so  great  foreboding  that  he  could  not  resist  the 
impulse  to  follow  the  desperate  girl.  If  harm  should  come 
to  her  through  the  harshness  of  others,  and  as  he  now  feared, 
more  especially  his  own,  he  would  never  forgive  himself. 

Mrs.  Mayhew  and  Stanton  did  not  see  her  departure — 
they  were  in  anxious  consultation  in  one  of  the  small  pri- 
vate parlors,  and  the  artist,  to  disarm  suspicion  of  his  de- 
sign, entered  the  hotel,  and  passed  out  again  by  a  side  door, 
from  which  he  took  a  short  cut  across  the  fields,  intending  to 
watch  Ida,  without  being  himself  observed. 

Having  found  some  dense  copse-wood  by  the  roadside, 
and  near  to  the  village,  he  sat  down  arid  waited.  The  gay, 
chattering  party  soon  passed,  Ida  walking  by  herself  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  road,  with  head  bowed  as  if  wholly 
wrapped  in  her  own  thoughts.  Her  unhappy  face  appealed 
to  his  sympathy  even  more  than  her  graceful  carriage  to  his 
sense  of  beauty,  and  he  longed  to  join  her  and  make  such 
amends  as  were  possible. 

He  now  followed  at  too  great  a  distance  for  recognition 
in  the  deepening  twilight,  and  saw  the  young  people  enter 
a  confectionery  shop,  but  observed,  with  increased  uneasi- 
ness, that  Miss  Mayhew  parted  from  them  and  went  to  an 
adjacent  drug-store.  She  soon  joined  the  party  again,  how- 
ever, and  they  all  apparently  started  homeward. 

Van  Berg  at  once  determined  to  go  to  this  drug-store  and 
learn,  if  possible,  if  there  were  anything  to  confirm  the  hor- 
rible suspicion  that  crossed  his  mind.  He  remembered  that 
despair  and  desperate  deeds  often  went  together,  and  the 
daily  press  had  taught  him  how  many  people,  with  warped 
and  ungoverned  moral  natures,  place  their  troubles  beyond 
remedy  by  the  supreme  folly  of  self-destruction. 

By  a  considerable  detour  through  a  side  street,  he  reached 
the  store  unperceived,  and  found  the  druggist  rather  dis- 
quieted himself. 

"Are  you  staying  at  Burleigh's?"  he  asked. 

"I  am,"  Van  Berg  replied. 


304  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

"Do  you  know  a  young  lady  boarding  there  with  large 
dark  eyes  and  auburn  hair?" 

"I  do." 

"Is  there — is  there  anything  wrong  about  her?" 

"Why  should  there  be?     Why  do  you  ask?" 

"She  has  just  been  in  here,  and  she  looked  sick  and 
strangely,  and  all  she  wanted  was  a  large  phial  of  lauda- 
num. Somehow  her  looks  and  purchase  have  made  me 
uneasy.  I  never  saw  so  white  a  face  in  my  life,  and  she 
seemed  weak  and  very  tired.  If  she's  sick,  how  comes  it 
she's  walking  to  the  village  ?  Besides,  she  seemed  to  have 
very  little  to  do  with  the  party  she  joined  after  leaving 
here." 

Van  Berg  controlled  himself  only  by  a  powerful  effort, 
and  was  very  glad  that  the  brim  of  his  soft  hat  concealed 
the  pallor  of  his  own  face.     He  managed  to  say  quietly: 

"The  young  lady  you  describe  has  not  been  well,  and 
has  probably  found  the  walk  longer  and  more  wearisome 
than  she  supposed.  As  for  the  laudanum,  that's  used  in 
many  ways.  Some  cigars,  if  you  please — thank  you.  I'll 
join  the  lady  and  see  that  she  reaches  home  safely,"  and  he 
hastily  left  the  store  and  walked  swiftly  away. 

"He  wouldn't  go  as  fast  as  that  if  he  wasn't  a  little  un- 
easy, too, ' '  muttered  the  druggist,  whose  dearth  of  business 
gave  him  abundant  leisure  to  see  all  that  was  going  on,  and 
to  imagine  much  more. 

Van  Berg  determined  to  overtake  Ida  before  she  reached 
the  hotel,  and  his  strides  were  as  long  and  swift  as  mortal 
dread  could  make  them. 

In  the  meantime,  while  the  artist  was  making  the  detour 
necessary  to  reach  the  drug-store  without  meeting  Ida,  she 
and  her  companions  had  started  homeward.  As  they  ap- 
proached a  church  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  the  bell 
in  the  steeple  commenced  tolling. 

"What's  that  for?"  asked  a  young  man  of  the  party  of 
a  plain,  farmer-like  appearing  man,  who  was  just  about  to 
enter. 


A    GOOD    MAN   SPEAKS  305 

"For  prayer-meetin',"  was  the  good-natured  reply.  "It 
wouldn't  hurt  you  to  come  to  it;"  and  the  speaker  passed 
into  the  lecture- room. 

"I  call  this  frivolous  assemblage  to  order,"  cried  the 
youth,  turning  around  to  his  companions.  "If  any  one  of 
our  number  has  ever  attended  a  prayer-meeting,  let  him 
hold  up  his  right  hand.  I  use  the  masculine  pronoun,  be- 
cause the  man  always  embraces  the  woman— when  he  gets 
a  chance." 

No  hands  were  held  up. 

"Heathen,  every  mother's  son  of  us,"  cried  the  first 
speaker.  "The  daughters  are  angels,  of  course,  and  don't 
need  to  go  to  prayer-meetin',  as  he  of  the  cowhide  sandals 
just  termed  it.  But  for  the  novelty  of  the  thing,  and  for 
the  want  of  something  better  to  do,  I  move  that  we  all  go 
to-night.     If  it  should  be  borous,  why,  we  can  come  out.  '* 

The  proposition  pleased  the  fancy  of  the  party,  and,  with 
gay  words  and  laughter  that  scarcely  ceased  at  the  vesti- 
bule, they  entered  the  place  of  prayer  and  lighted  down 
among  the  sober-visaged,  soberly  dressed  worshippers  like 
a  flock  of  tropical  birds. 

Ida  reluctantly  followed  them.  At  first  she  half  decided 
to  walk  home  alone,  but  feared  to  do  so.  She  who  had 
resolved  on  facing  the  "King  of  Terrors"  shrank,  with  a 
woman's  instinct,  from  a  lonely  walk  in  the  starlight. 

She  sat  in  dreary  preoccupation  a  little  apart  from  the 
others  and  paid  no  more  heed  to  the  opening  services  than 
to  their  ill-concealed  merriment. 

The  minister  was  away  on  his  August  vacation.  Prayer- 
meetings  were  out  of  season,  and  very  few  were  present. 
The  plain  farmer  was  trying  to  conduct  the  service  as  well 
as  he  could,  but  it  was  evident  he  would  have  been  much 
more  at  ease  holding  the  handle  of  a  plow  or  the  reins  of 
his  rattling  team,  than  a  hymn-book.  Dr.  Watts  and  John 
Wesley  might  have  lost  some  of  their  heavenly  serenity 
could  they  have  heard  him  read  their  verses,  and  certainly 
only  a  long-suffering  and  merciful  God  could  listen  to  his 


306  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

prayer.  And  yet  rarely  on  the  battlefield  is  there  more 
moral  courage  displayed  than  plain  Thomas  Smith  put 
forth  that  night  in  his  conscientious  effort  to  perform  an 
urwonted  task;  and  when  at  last  he  sat  down  and  said, 
"Brethren,  the  meetin'  is  now  open,"  he  was  more  ex- 
hausted than  he  would  have  been  from  a  long  day  of  toil. 

"The  Lord  looketh  at  the  heart"  is  a  truth  that  chills 
many  with  dread,  but  it  was  a  precious  thought  to  Farmer 
Smith  as  he  saw  that  his  fellow  church  members  did  not 
look  very  appreciative,  and  that  the  gay  young  city-people 
often  giggled  outright  at  his  uncouth  words  and  manner. 

Ida  would  have  been  as  greatly  amused  as  any  of  them 
a  few  weeks  since,  but  now  she  scarcely  heard  the  poor 
man's  stumblings,  or  the  wailing  of  the  hymns  that  were 
mangled  anew  by  the  people.  She  sat  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  vacancy,  thinking  how  dreary  and  empty  the  world  had 
become;  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  religion  was  the  most 
dreary  and  empty  thing  in  it. 

"What  good  can  this  wretched  little  meeting  do  any 
one?"  she  thought  more  than  once. 

She  was  answered. 

Near  her  was  a  very  old  man  who  had  been  regarding 
the  ill-behaved  party  with  an  expression  of  mingled  displeas- 
ure and  pity.  Now  that  the  meeting  was  open  to  all  he  rose 
slowly  to  his  feet,  steadying  himself  with  his  cane. 

14 He  looks  like  the  Ancient  Mariner,"  giggled  an  exceed- 
ingly immature  youth,  who  sat  next  to  Ida. 

She  turned  upon  him  sharply  and  said,  in  a  low  tone, 
"If  you  have  the  faintest  instincts  of  a  gentleman  you  will 
respect  that  venerable  man. 

The  youth  was  so  effectually  quenched  that  he  bore  the 
aspect  of  a  turnip-beet  during  the  remainder  of  the  service. 

"My  young  friends,"  began  the  old  man  in  tones  of 
gentle  dignity,  "will  you  listen  patiently  and  quietly  to  one 
that  you  see  will  not  have  the  chance  to  speak  many  more 
words.  My  eyes  are  a  little  dim,  but  you  all  appear  young 
and  happy ;  and  yet  I  am  sorry  for  you,  very  sorry  for  you. 


A    GOOD    MAN  SPEAKS  307 

You  don't  realize  what  you  are  and  what  is  before  you. 
You  remind  me  of  a  number  of  pleasure  boats  just  starting 
out  to  sea.  I  have  been  across  this  ocean,  and  have  almost 
reached  the  other  shore.  I  know  what  terrible  storms  and 
dangers  you  will  meet.  You  can't  escape  these  storms,  my 
youtog  friends.  No  one  can,  and  you  don't  seem  prepared 
to  meet  them. 

"Your  manner  has  pained  me  very  much,  and  yet,  as 
my  Master  said,  so  I  have  felt,  you  'know  not  what  you 
do.'  There  is  a  Kingly  Presence  in  this  place  that  you 
have  not  recognized.  Do  you  not  remember  who  it  was  that 
said,  '  Where  two  or  three  are  gathered  together  in  my  name, 
there  am  I  in  the  midst  of  them'  ? 

"I  am  very  old,  but  my  memory  is  good.  It  seems  but 
a  short  time  ago  that  I  was  as  young  and  thoughtless  as  any 
one  of  you,  and  yet  it  was  seventy  years  ago.  I  have  tested 
the  friendship  of  Jesus  Christ  for  over  half  a  century.  Have 
I  not  then  a  right  to  speak  of  it?  Ought  I  not  to  know 
something  about  Him  ? 

"Do  you  ask  me  if  my  Master  has  kept  me  from  trouble 
and  suffering  all  these  years  ?  Far  from  it.  Indeed,  I 
think  he  has  caused  me  a  good  deal  of  trouble  and  pain 
in  addition  to  that  which  I  brought  on  myself  by  my  own 
folly  and  mistakes;  but  I  now  see  that  He  caused  it  only  as 
the  good  physician  gives  pain,  in  order  to  make  the  patient 
strong  and  well.  But  one  thing  is  certainly  true.  He  has 
stood  by  me  as  a  faithful  friend  all  these  years,  and  has 
brought  good  to  me  out  of  all  the  evil.  I  have  been  in  sore 
temptations  and  deep  discouragement.  My  heart  at  times 
has  seemed  breaking  with  sorrow.  Mine  has  been  the  com- 
mon lot.  But  when  the  storm  was  loudest  and  most  terri- 
ble, his  hand  was  on  the  helm,  and  now  I  am  entering  the 
quiet  harbor.  There  has  been  much  that  was  dark  and 
hard  to  understand;  there  is  much  still;  but  there  is  plenty 
to  prove  that  my  Heavenly  Father  is  leading  me  home  as 
a  little  child. 

"It  is  a  precious,  blessed  truth  that  I  wish  to  bring  you 


308  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

face  to  face  with  to-night,  and  yet  it  may  become  a  very  sad 
and  terrible  truth,  if  you  shut  your  eyes  to  it  now  and  re- 
member it  only  when  it  is  too  late.  I  wish  to  assure  you, 
on  the  ground  of  simple,  downright  experience,  through  all 
these  years,  that  God's  'unspeakable  gift,'  his  only  Son,  is 
just  what  our  poor  human  nature  needs.  Jesus  Christ  'is 
able  to  save  them  to  the  uttermost  that  come  to  God  by 
Him.'  He  helps  us  overcome  that  awful  disease — sin.  He 
brings  to  our  unhappy  hearts  immortal  life  and  health. 
I  know  it  as  I  know  that  I  exist.  He  has  helped  me  when 
and  where  there  was  no  human  help.  I  have  often  seen  His 
redeeming  work  in  the  lives  of  other  faulty,  sinful  people 
like  myself. 

"The  question  therefore  which  you  must  each  decide  is 
not  whether  you  will  ever  belong  to  this  church  or  that,  not 
whether  you  will  believe  this  or  that  doctrine,  or  do  what 
this  or  that  man  teaches.  The  question  is  this — Here  is 
a  tender,  merciful,  Divine  Friend.  He  offers  to  lead  you 
safely  through  all  the  dangers  and  hard  places  in  this 
world,  as  a  shepherd  leads  his  flock  through  the  wilder- 
ness. Will  you  follow  Him,  or  will  you  remain  in  the  wil- 
derness and  perish  when  the  night  comes,  as  it  surely  will  ? 
If  you  will  follow  Him  as  well  as  you  can,  He'll  bring  you 
to  a  happy  and  eternal  home.  Thanks  to  His  patient  kind- 
ness which  never  falters,  He  has  brought  me  almost  there. 

"And  now,  my  young  friends,  bear  with  an  old  man, 
and  let  me  say,  in  conclusion,  that  you  all  need  the  kind, 
patient,  faithful  Friend  that  I  found  so  long  ago.  No  evil, 
no  misfortune  can  come  into  any  human  life  that  is  beyond 
His  power  to  remedy  and  finally  banish  forever.  If  you 
have  not  found  this  Friend,  this  Life-giver,  I  am  younger 
and  happier  than  you  are  to-day,  although  I  am  eighty- 
eight  years  old." 

Once  before  a  rash,  despairing  man  lifted  his  hand  against 
his  life,  but  God's  message  to  him,  through  His  apostle,  was, 
"Do  thyself  no  harm."  And  now  again  a  faithful  servant, 
speaking  for  Him  whose  coming  was  God's  supreme  expres- 


A    GOOD    MAN   SPEAKS  309 

sion  of  goodwill  toward  men,  had  brought  a  like  merciful 
message  to  another  poor  soul  that  had  taken  counsel  of 
despair.  Ida  Mayhew  might  learn,  as  did  the  jailer  of  Phi- 
lippi,  that  God  has  a  better  remedy  than  death  for  seem- 
ingly irretrievable  disasters. 

The  old  gentleman's  words  came  home  to  her  with  such 
a  force  of  personal  application  that  she  was  deeply  moved, 
and  even  awed.  They  seemed  like  a  divine  message — nay 
more,  like  a  restraining  hand.  "How  strange  it  was,"  she 
thought,  that  she  had  come  to  this  place ! — how  strange  that 
a  serene  old  man,  with  heaven's  peace  already  on  his  brow, 
should  have  uttered  the  words  best  adapted  to  her  desperate 
need.  If  he  had  spoken  of  duty,  obligation,  of  truth  in  the 
abstract,  his  tones  would  have  been  like  the  sound  of  a 
wintry  wind.  But  he  had  spoken  of  a  Friend,  as  tender, 
patient,  and  helpful  as  he  was  powerful.  What  was  far 
more,  he  spoke  with  the  strong  convincing  confidence  of 
personal  knowledge.  He  had  tried  this  Friend  through 
all  the  vicissitudes  of  over  half  a  century,  and  found  Him 
true.  Could  human  assurance — could  human  testimony  go 
further?  Deep  in  her  heart  she  was  conscious  that  hope 
was  reviving  again — that  the  end  had  not  yet  come. 

The  gay  young  party,  touched  and  subdued,  passed  out 
quietly  with  the  others.     But  Ida  lingered. 

"Who  is  that  old  gentleman  ?"  she  asked  of  a  lady  near 
her. 

"That  is  Mr.  Eltinge— Mr.  James  Eltinge,"  was  the 
reply. 

Ida  passed  slowly  toward  the  door,  looking  wistfully 
back  at  the  old  man,  who  stopped  to  greet  cheerily  one 
and  another. 

"No  one  need  be  afraid  to  speak  to  him,"  she  thought. 
"His  every  look  and  tone  show  him  to  be  kind  and  sincere. 
I'll  see  him  before — before" — she  shuddered,  and  scarcely 
dared  to  put  her  dark  purpose  in  thought  in  the  presence 
of  one  who  had  lived  patiently  at  God's  will  for  nearly 
a  century. 


310  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

She  stepped  out  into  the  night  and  watched  for  his  com- 
ing. In  a  moment  or  two  the  old  gentleman  also  passed 
out,  and  stood  waiting  for  his  carriage. 

Timidly  approaching  him,  she  said,  "Mr.  Eltinge,  may 
I  speak  with  you  ?" 

He  stepped  with  her  a  little  aside  from  the  others. 

"Mr.  Eltinge,"  she  continued,  in  a  voice  that  trembled 
and  was  broken  by  her  feeling,  ltI  am  one  of  the  young 
people  you  spoke  to  this  evening.  I'm  in  trouble — deep 
trouble.     I  want  such  a  Friend  as  you  described  to-night." 

He  took  her  hand  and  said,  in  a  hearty  voice,  "God  bless 
you,  my  child.     He  wants  you  more  than  you  want  Him." 

"May  I  come  and  see  you  to-morrow  morning?"  asked 
Ida,  hurriedly,  for  his  tones  of  kindness,  for  which  her  heart 
was  famishing,  were  fast  breaking  down  her  self-control. 

"I'll  come  and  see  you,"  was  his  prompt  and  cordial 
response. 

"No,"  she  faltered,  "let  it  be  as  I  wish.  Please  tell  me 
where  to  find  you." 

As  he  finished  directing  her,  she  stooped  down  and 
kissed  his  hand,  and  then  vanished  in  the  darkness. 

"Perhaps  I'm  not  yet  a  cumberer  of  the  ground,"  mur- 
mured the  old  man,  wiping  a  sudden  moisture  from  his  eyese 


VAN    BERQ'S    ESCAPE  311 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

VAN     BERG'S     ESCAPE 

IDA  found  the  party,  on  whose  companionship  she  had  in 
a  measure  forced  herself,  waiting  and  calling  for  her. 
The  words  of  the  old  gentleman  had  inspired  them 
with  kinder  and  more  considerate  feeling. 

"I'm  coming,"  she  answered;  "don't  wait  for  me,  I'll 
keep  near  you." 

As  they  had  already  observed  her  evident  wish  to  be  left 
to  herself,  they  complied  with  her  request. 

The  icy  calm  of  her  despair  was  now  broken. 

"God  bless  him  for  his  kindness!"  she  murmured,  and 
"God  bless  him  for  his  hearty,  hopeful  words;  they  may 
save  me  yet,"  and  she  followed  the  others,  crying  softly  to 
herself  like  a  little  child.  It  would  seem  as  if  every  warm 
tear  fell  on  her  heart,  that  had  been  so  hard  and  desperate 
before,  so  rapidly  did  it  melt  at  the  thought  of  the  old  man's 
kindness. 

But  before  she  reached  the  hotel  she  began  to  grow  ex- 
cessively weary.  She  had  not  only  overtaxed  her  powers 
of  endurance,  but  had  overestimated  them. 

At  last,  as  she  was  about  to  ask  her  companions  to  walk 
more  slowly,  lest  she  should  be  left  alone  by  the  roadside 
in  her  weakness,  she  heard  the  sound  of  strong,  rapid  steps. 

"Where  is  Miss  Mayhew  ?"  was  the  anxious  query  of  a 
voice  that  made  her  heart  bound  and  color  come  into  her  face, 
even  at  that  moment  of  almost  mortal  weakness  and  weariness. 

"Here  is  Miss  Mayhew,"  said  one  of  the  half -grown 
youths.     "She  prefers  to  walk  by  herself,  it  seems." 

"Thank  you,"    replied  Van   Berg,  decisively.     "I  will 


812  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

see  her  safely  home;"  and  the  party  went  on,  leaving  him 
face  to  face  with  the  maiden  whom  he  now  believed  he  had 
very  greatly  wronged,  and  who,  he  feared,  might  yet  prove 
herself  capable  of  a  terrible  crime. 

She  stood  before  him  with  bowed  head.  In  her  weak- 
ness and  agitation  she  trembled  so  violently  that  even  in 
the  starlight  he  could  not  help  seeing  her  distress,  and  it 
filled  him  at  once  with  pity  and  alarm. 

"You  are  ill,  Miss  Mayhew,"  he  said,  anxiously. 

"Yes,"  she  answered;  then,  conscious  of  her  growing 
need,  she  said,  appealing ly:  "Mr.  Van  Berg,  with  all  my 
faults  I  am  at  least  a  woman.  Please  help  me  home.  I'm 
so  weak  and  weary  that  I'm  almost  ready  to  faint." 

He  seized  her  hand  and  faltered  hoarsely:  "Miss  May- 
hew,  you  have  not — you  have  not  taken  that  drug — ' ' 

She  was  so  vividly  conscious  of  her  own  dark  secret,  and 
so  impressed  by  his  power  to  discover  all  the  evil  in  her 
nature,  that  she  replied  in  a  low  tone: 

"Hush.     I  understand  you.     Not  yet." 

"Thank  God!"  he  ejaculated,  with  such  a  deep  sigh  of 
relief  that  she  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  Then  he  drew 
her  hand  within  his  arm,  and  weary  as  she  was,  she  could 
not  help  noting  that  it  trembled  as  if  he  had  an  ague. 

For  a  few  moments  they  walked  on  without  speaking. 
Then  the  artist  addressed  her. 

"Miss  Mayhew — " 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,"  she  said,  hastily  interrupting  him. 
u Spare  me  to-night.     I'm  too  weary  even  to  think." 

Again  they  walked  on  in  silence,  but  his  agitation  was 
evidently  increasing. 

"Let  me  enter  by  that  side  door,  please,"  she  said,  as 
they  approached  the  hotel. 

"Miss  Mayhew,"  he  began,  in  a  low,  hurried  tone,  "I 
must  speak.  You  said  you  were  a  woman.  As  such  I  ap- 
peal to  you.  A  woman  may,  at  times,  have  no  pity  on  her- 
self, but  it  rarely  happens  that  she  is  pitiless  toward  others, 
and  it  is  said  that  she  is  often  the  most  generous  and  merci- 


VAN    BERG'S    ESCAPE  313 

ful  toward  those  who  have  wronged  her.  I  have  wronged 
you  cruelly  and  unpardonably.  I  knew  it  as  soon  as  you 
entered  the  parlor  last  evening.  There  is  no  excuse  for 
me — I  will  never  forgive  myself,  but  I  do  most  sincerely 
apologize  and  ask  your  forgiveness.  Miss  Mayhew,  I  ap- 
peal to  your  generosity — I  appeal  to  your  woman's  heart. 
If  you  should  consummate  the  awful  purpose  which  I  fear 
has  been  in  your  mind,  I  should  go  mad  with  remorse. 
You  would  destroy  me  as  surely  as  yourself.  Pardon  me 
for  speaking  thus,  but  I  fear  so  greatly — 0  God!  can  she 
have  already  committed  the  fatal  act?" 

Ida's  overtaxed  powers  had  given  way,  and  she  would 
have  fallen  had  he  not  sustained  her.  His  words  had  over- 
whelmed her,  and,  taken  in  connection  with  those  spoken 
by  old  Mr.  Eltinge,  had  given  a  glimpse  of  the  awful  abyss 
into  which  she  had  wellnigh  plunged,  dragging  others,  per- 
haps, after  her.  She  recoiled  from  it  all  so  strongly  that 
she  became  sick  and  faint  from  dread;  and  Van  Berg  was 
compelled  to  support  her  to  a  rustic  seat  near  the  path. 
He  was  about  to  leave  her  in  order  to  obtain  assistance, 
when  she  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  gasped: 

"Wait — give  me  time — I'll  soon  be  better.  Do  not  call 
any  one,  I  beg." 

"Let  me  quietly  bring  you  a  little  wine,  then,  from  my 
own  room  ?" 

She  bowed  her  assent. 

The  stimulant  soon  revived  her.  He  stood  at  her  side 
waiting  with  intense  anxiety  till  she  should  speak.  At  last 
she  rose  slowly  and  weakly,  saying,  in  a  low  tone: 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  suppose  I  have  now  reached  the  low- 
est depth  in  your  estimation,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  I  admit 
that  I  was  in  an  awful  and  desperate  mood,  and  was  about 
to  act  accordingly.  There  is  no  use  of  trying  to  hide  any- 
thing from  you.  But  a  good  man  spoke  kindly  to  me  to- 
night, and  the  black  spell  is  broken.  There  is  the  drug 
I  purchased,"  and  she  handed  him  the  phial  of  laudanum. 
"You  may  now  dismiss  all  fears.     I  will  explain  further 

u— Roe— XII 


314  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

another  time  if  you  care  to  hear.     Please  let  me  go  in  by 
myself." 

"Pardon  me  for  saying,  no,"  he  answered,  gently.  "I 
think  I  am  best  able  to-night  to  judge  of  what  is  right. 
You  must  go  in  at  the  main  entrance,  and  on  my  arm. 
Henceforward  I  shall  treat  you  with  respect,  and  I  intend 
that  all  others  shall  also." 

With  a  low  sob,  she  said,  impulsively:  "Oh,  Mr.  Van 
Berg,  forgive  me!  but  that  was  my  motive.  I  meant  to 
compel  your  respect;  and  I  thought  there  was  no  other 
way.  I  thought  that  if  I  went  to  my  grave,  instead  of 
going  to  the  man  who  attempted  your  life,  you  would  see 
that  you  had  misjudged  me.  Here  is  a  letter  which  I  wrote 
you.  It  should  go  with  the  poison.  It  is  all  that  I  can 
offer  in  excuse  or  extenuation." 

"Good  God!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  have  escaped  a  worse 
fate  than  yours  would  have  been,"  and  she  felt  his  arm 
again  trembling  violently  beneath  her  hand. 

1 '  I  did  not  think  you  would  care  so  greatly, ' '  she  mur- 
mured. 

4 1  Miss  May  hew, ' '  he  said,  in  a  deep  voice,  ' 4  promise  me,  be- 
fore God,  that  you  will  never  harbor  such  a  thought  again." 

"I  hope  I  never  may,"  she  replied,  despondently,  "but 
I've  lost  all  confidence  in  myself,  Mr.  Van  Berg." 

"Poor  child!  What  a  brute  I've  been,"  he  muttered; 
but  she  heard  him. 

As  they  mounted  the  piazza,  they  met  Stanton  and  Mrs. 
Mayhew. 

"Why,  Ida,"  exclaimed  her  mother,  "I  thought  you 
were  in  your  room." 

"I  walked  to  the  village  with  a  party  of  young  people," 
was  her  hasty  reply,  "and  Mr.  Van  Berg  met  me  on  our  re- 
turn. I'm  very  tired.  Good- night,"  and  she  went  directly 
to  her  room. 

The  artist's  manner  in  parting  was  polite  and  respectful, 
and  by  this  simple  act  he  did  much  to  reinstate  her  in  the 
social  position  she  had  wellnigh  lost,  though  her  supposed 


VAN    BERQ'S    ESCAPE  315 

infatuation  with  the  man  who  was  now  a  synonym  in  the 
house  for  everything  that  was  vile. 

On  the  following  day,  through  the  aid  of  Miss  Burton, 
he  caused  the  impression  to  be  generally  given  that  Miss 
Mayhew  had  been  exceedingly  mortified  that  she  had  ever 
associated  with  such  a  villain  as  Sibley  had  shown  himself 
to  be,  and  still  more  pained  to  think  that  she  should  be 
imagined  capable  of  any  other  feeling  save  contempt  for 
him,  after  learning  of  his  disgraceful  words  and  actions. 
These  explanations  gave  an  entirely  new  aspect  to  the 
matter,  and  sufficiently  accounted  for  her  increasing  indis- 
position and  rather  odd  behavior.  Indeed,  people  placed  it 
to  her  credit  that  she  was  so  deeply  affected,  and  were  all 
the  more  inclined  to  make  amends  for  having  misjudged  her. 

Mrs.  Mayhew  accompanied  her  daughter  to  her  room, 
but  Ida  told  her  that  she  was  too  weary  to  answer  a  single 
question,  and  that  she  wished  to  be  alone. 

"Van,  may  I  speak  with  you?"  Stanton  had  asked, 
anxiously.  When  they  were  sufficiently  far  from  the  house 
to  insure  privacy  he  began  again:  "  Van,  what's  the  matter? 
You  were  as  white  as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost." 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  ghosts, "  said  the  artist,  almost  sternly, 
"but  there  are  things  which  I  mortally  fear,  and  chief  among 
these  are  blunders — stupid,  irrational  acts,  but  involving 
results  that  may  be  beyond  remedy.  You  and  I  have  just 
made  one  that  might  have  cost  us  dear.  Of  course  you  will 
treat  your  cousin  hereafter  as  you  please,  but  I  most  de- 
cidedly request  that  you  do  and  say  nothing  that  involves 
any  reference  to  me.  I  wish  her  to  form  her  opinion  of  my 
attitude  toward  her  solely  from  her  own  observation." 

"I  think  you  are  a  trifle  severe,  but  I  suppose  I  deserve 
it,"  said  Stanton,  stiffly. 

"I  admit  that  I  am  strongly  moved.  I  do  not  excuse 
myself  in  the  least;  and  yet  you  know  I  was  misled.  I  must 
tell  you  plainly  that  Ida  Mayhew  is  not  a  girl  to  be  trifled 
with.  I  fear  her  mother  wholly  fails  in  understanding  her, 
and  from  what  you  yourself  have  told  me  of  her  father,  she 


316  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

has  no  help  there.  She  has  no  brother,  and  you  should 
take  the  place  of  one,  as  far  as  possible.  The  only  right 
I  have  to  speak  thus  is  on  the  ground  of  the  great  wrong 
I  have  done  her,  and  for  which  I  can  never  forgive  myself. 
Miss  May  hew  and  I  are  comparative  strangers,  and  our  brief 
summer  sojourn  here  will  soon  be  over.  By  mere  accident 
facts  have  come  to  my  knowledge  to-night  which  prove,  in 
the  most  emphatic  manner,  that  she  requires  kind,  unob- 
trusive, but  vigilant  care.  I  never  knew  of  a  girl  who 
needed  a  brother  more  than  she.  She  is  not  bad  at  heart — 
far  from  it,  but  she  is  fearfully  rash,  and  she  is  warped  by 
education,  or  its  lack,  and  by  the  vile  literature  she  has 
read,  to  such  a  degree  that  she  cannot  see  things  in  their 
true  moral  aspects.  I'll  give  you  a  plain  hint,  and  then 
you  must  not  ask  me  anything  further,  for  both  you  and 
I  must  be  able  to  say  that  the  history  of  my  last  interview 
was  never  given.  My  hint  is  this — I  do  not  believe  that 
self-destruction  ever  appeared  to  Miss  Mayhew  as  an  awful 
and  revolting  crime.  Her  actual  life,  hitherto,  has  been  a 
round  of  frivolity.  Only  on  the  stage  or  in  the  absurd 
woes  of  her  stilted  heroes  and  heroines,  has  she  given  any 
attention  to  the  sad  and  serious  side  of  life.  Men  and 
women  committing  suicide  to  slow  music  is  the  chief  stock 
in  trade  in  some  quarters,  and  when  serious  trouble  came 
to  her  this  devil's  comedy  had  been  robbed  of  its  horror  by 
the  clap-trap  of  stage  effect.  That  is  the  only  way  in  which 
I  can  account  for  it  all  or  excuse  her.  But  the  fact  that  she 
recoiled  from  Sibley  so  strongly  and  felt  the  disgrace  of  her 
association  so  keenly,  proves  that  she  possesses  a  true 
woman's  nature.  But,  as  I  said,  she  needs  a  brother's  care. 
You  are  nearest  of  kin,  Stanton,  and  you  must  give  it. 
Indeed,  Ik,  pardon  the  freedom  of  an  old  friend  whom 
circumstances  have  strangely  mixed  up  in  this  affair,  I 
think  you  are  honor- bound  to  give  this  brother's  protec- 
tion; and  you  are  a  man  of  honor  if  you  pass  your  word." 
"Do  you — do  you  think  there  is  still  any  danger  that  she 
will—" 


VAN    BERG'S   ESCAPE  317 

4 'No;  the  danger  is  passed  for  this  occasion;  but  you 
must  guard  her  from  deep  despondency  or  strong  provoca- 
tion in  the  future." 

4 'The  task  you  require  is  a  difficult  one.  I  doubt  whether 
she  ever  forgives  me  even." 

4 'I  think  she  will.  I  have  also  learned  to-night  that 
genuine  kindness  and  sympathy  have  great  weight  with 
her.  Pledge  me  your  word  that  you  will  do  the  best  you 
can." 

"Well,  Van,  I  suppose  I  ought— I  will.  But  your  words 
have  quite  unnerved  me." 

"Unnerved!  I'm  worse  than  that.  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
passed  through  a  month's  illness.  Never  breathe  a  whisper 
of  all  this  to  any  one.  Good-night"  And  he  strode  away 
in  the  darkness. 

Having  reached  a  secluded  spot,  he  ground  the  phial  of 
laudanum  that  Ida  had  given  him  under  his  heel  with  the 
vindictiveness  with  which  he  would  stamp  out  the  life  of 
a  poisonous  reptile. 

Then  he  returned  to  his  room  and  took  out  Ida's  letter, 
but  his  hands  trembled  so  that  he  could  scarcely  open  it. 
As  he  read,  they  trembled  still  more,  and  his  face  became 
almost  ashen  in  its  hue.  He  was  so  appalled  at  what  might 
have  happened  that  his  heart  seemed  for  a  second  to  cease 
its  pulsations. 

44 Great  God!"  he  said,  in  a  hoarse  whisper — "what  an 
escape  I've  had!" 

Hour  after  hour  passed,  but  he  sat  motionless,  staring 
at  the  abyss  into  which  he  had  almost  stumbled. 

The  song  of  a  bird  without  reminded  him  that  morning 
was  near.  He  drew  the  curtain  and  saw  that  the  dawn  was 
reddening  the  sky. 

44 Thank  God,"  he  cried,  fervently,  "for  the  escape  we 
both  have  had!" 

Then,  in  order  to  throw  off  the  horrible  nightmare  that 
nad  oppressed  him,  he  stole  quietly  out  into  the  fresh, 
cool,  dewy  air. 


318  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  XL 

VAN   BERG'S   CONCLUSIONS 

VAN  BERG  knew  that  the  word  discouragement  was 
in  the  dictionary,  and  he  supposed  he  understood 
its    meaning,    but    Ida    Mayhew's    farewell    letter 
proved   to   him   that  he   was   mistaken.     There   are   some 
things  we  never  learn  until  taught  by  the  severe  logic  of 
events  and  experience.      There   had   been  nothing   in  his 
own   history  or  character  that  enabled  him  to  realize  the 
dreary  sinking   of   heart— the   paralyzing   despondency   of 
those  who  believe  or  fear  that  they  have   been  defeated 
and  thwarted  in  life.     Through  the  weaknesses  and  dan- 
gers of  early  life  he  had  been  shielded  with  loving  vigi- 
lance.    His  mind  and  taste  had  been  fostered  with  untir- 
ing care,  and  yet  every  new  development  praised  as  un- 
stintedly as  if  all  were  of  native  growth.     Fortunately  he 
abounded  in  virile  force  and  good  sense,  and  so  gradually 
passed  from  self-complacency  and  conceit  to  the  self-reli- 
ance and  courage  of  a  strong  man  who,  while  aware  of  his 
ability  and  vantage-ground,   also  recognizes  the  fact  that 
nothing  can  take  the  place  of  skilfully  directed  industry 
in  well-defined  directions.     The  confidence  that  had  been 
created  by  the  favorable  conditions  of  his  lot  had  been  in- 
creased far  more  by  the  knowledge  that  he  could  go  out 
into  the  world  and  hold  his  own  among  men  on  the  com- 
mon ground  of  hard  work  and  innate  strength.  ^  He  ex- 
pected esteem,  respectful  courtesy— and  even  admiration— 
as  a  matter  of  course.     They  were  in  part  his  birthright  and 
partly  the  result  of  his  own  achievement,  and  he  received 


VAN    BERQ'S    CONCLUSIONS  319 

them  as  quietly  as  his  customary  income.  Their  presence 
was  like  his  excellent  health,  to  which  he  scarcely  gave  a 
thought,  but  their  withdrawal  would  have  affected  him 
keenly,  although   he   had  never  considered  the  possibility 

of  such  a  thing.  , 

What  in  him  was  confidence  and  self-reliance  had  been 
in  Ida  little  else  than  vanity  and  pride,  and  these,  circum- 
stances had  enabled  him  to  wound  unto  death.      He  had, 
from  the  first,  calmly  and  philosophically  recognized  the 
fact  that  he  must  break  down,  in  part,  the  Chinese  wall  of 
her  self-approval,  before  any  elevating  ideas  and  ennobling 
impulses  could  enter,  and  as  much  through  unforeseen  events 
as  by  his  effort,  this  had  been  done  to  a  degree  that  threat- 
ened results  that  appalled  him.     He  had  been  taught  thor- 
oughly that  faulty  and  ignorant  as  she  undoubtedly  was, 
she  was  by  no  means  shallow  and  weak.     To  his  mind  the 
depth  of  her  despondency  was  the  measure  of  her  power  to 
realize  her  imperfection,  for  he  now  supposed  her  depres- 
sion was  caused  immediately  by  the  fact  that  she  had  been 
so  harshly  misjudged,  but  in  the  main  because  of  her  re- 
semblance  to  the  flower  he  had  tossed  away  and  which  he 
now  remembered,  with  deep  satisfaction,  was  in  his  note- 
book, ready  to  aid  in  the  reassuring  and  encouraging  work 
upon' which  he  was  eager  to  enter. 

He  did  not  dream  that  by  tactics  the  reverse  of  those 
pursued  by  her  numerous  admirers  he  had  won  her  heart, 
and  that  the  apparent  hopelessness  of  her  passion  had  out- 
weighed all  other  burdens. 

Her  kindest  sentiment  toward  him,  he  believed,  was  the 
cold  respect,  mingled  with  fear  and  dislike,  in  which  a  se- 
vere but  honest  critic  is  sometimes  held;  and  as  he  recalled 
his  course  toward  her  he  now  felt  that  she  had  little  reason 
for  even  this  degree  of  regard.  He  had  awakened  her  sleep- 
ing mind  not  to  an  atmosphere  of  kindness  and  sympathy 
like  that  in  which  the  beauty  in  the  fabled  castle  had  re- 
vived, but  to  a  biting  frost  of  harsh  criticism  and  un3ust 
.usoicion.     That  there  seemed,   at  the  time,    good  reason 


320  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

for  these  on  his  part  did  not  make  it  any  easier  for  her  to 
bear  them;  and  in  the  fact  that  he  had  so  misunderstood 
and  wronged  her,  his  confidence  in  his  own  sagacity  re- 
ceived the  severest  shock  it  had  ever  experienced.  He  felt 
that  he  could  never  go  forward  in  life  with  his  old  assured 
tread  and  manner. 

Moreover,  the  kindness  and  respect  which  he  now  pro- 
posed to  show  Ida  were  caused  more  by  compunction  and 
fear  than  by  any  warmer  and  friendlier  motive.  He  wished 
to  make  amends  for  his  injustice,  to  reassure  the  girl,  to 
smooth  over  matters  and  extricate  himself  from  his  fateful 
office  of  critic.  This  experimenting  with  human  souls  for 
artistic  purposes  was  a  much  more  serious  matter  than  he 
could  have  imagined.  He  had  entered  upon  it  as  a  part  of 
his  summer  recreation,  but  had  found  himself  playing  with 
forces  that  had  wellnigh  destroyed  him  as  well  as  the  sub- 
ject of  his  fancied  skill.  Hereafter  he  proposed  to  illumine 
faces  with  thought,  feeling,  and  spiritual  beauty  on  canvas 
only,  so  that,  in  case  he  should  become  discouraged  or  dis- 
gusted with  his  efforts  and  throw  the  work  aside,  there 
might  be  no  such  tragic  protest  as  Ida  Mayhew  had  almost 
offered.  While  he  pitied,  and  now  in  a  certain  sense  re- 
spected her,  she  filled  him  with  the  uncomfortable  dread 
and  nervous  apprehension  which  rash  and  unbalanced 
natures  always  inspire.  The  charge  he  had  given  Stanton 
revealed  his  opinion.  She  was  one  who  must  be  watched 
over,  not  with  the  tender  care  and  sympathy  that  he  hoped 
to  bestow  on  Jennie  Burton,  but  with  kind,  yet  firm  and 
wary  vigilance,  in  order  to  prevent  action  dangerous  both 
to  herself  and  others;  and  a  heavy,  anxious  task  he  believed 
such  care  would  be. 

His  aim  was  now  to  heal  the  wounds  he  had  made  by  a 
decided  manifestation  of  kindness  and  respect  which  should 
be  as  sincere  as  possible  in  view  of  his  knowledge  of  her 
faults;  and  if  her  present  good  impulses  were  anything 
more  than  passing  moods,  to  encourage  them,  as  far  as  he 
could,  and  then  retire  from   the  scene  as  soon  as  circum- 


VAN   BERG'S    CONCLUSIONS  321 

stances  permitted.  He  had  been  too  thoroughly  frightened 
to  wish  to  continue  in  the  role  of  a  spiritual  reformer,  and 
he  had  a  growing  perception  that,  with  his  present  motive 
and  knowledge,  the  work  was  infinitely  beyond  him.  He 
began  to  fear  that  he  was  like  certain  physicians,  whose 
skill  consists  chiefly  in  their  power  to  aggravate  disease 
rather  than  to  cure  it.  He  had  found  Ida  a  vain,  silly  girl, 
apparently.  He  had  parted  the  previous  evening  from  a 
desperate  woman,  capable  of  self-destruction,  and  her  let- 
ter inseparably  linked  him  with  the  marvellous  change. 
Thus  he  gained  the  uneasy  impression  that  there  was  too 
much  nitro-glycerine  in  human  nature  in  general,  and  in 
Ida  Mayhew  in  particular,  for  him  to  use  such  material  in 
working  out  metaphysical  and  artistic  problems. 

At  the  end  of  his  long  morning  walk  he  concluded: 
11  Poor  child!  after  her  eyes  were  opened  she  could  not 
help  seeing  a  great  deal  that  was  exceedingly  depressing. 
In  regard  to  her  parents,  she  is  far  worse  off  than  if  or- 
phaned. In  regard  to  herself,  she  finds  that  her  best  years 
are  gone,  and  she  has  neither  culture  of  mind  nor  heart — 
that  her  beauty  is  but  a  mask  that  cannot  long  conceal  the 
enduring  imperfection  and  deformity  of  her  character.  She 
associates  these  discoveries  with  me  because  I  first  disturbed 
her  vanity;  but  the  beauty  of  Jennie  Burton's  life,  the  das- 
tardly behavior  of  Sibley,  and  the  deep  humiliation  received 
through  him,  with  other  circumstances,  have  all  combined 
to  bring  about  the  revelation.  And  yet,  confound  it  all !  I 
did  act  the  stupid  Pharisee  on  several  occasions,  and  I  might 
as  well  own  it  both  to  her  and  myself.  A  Pharisee  is  a  fool 
per  se.  Well,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  her  outlook  for  life  is  dark 
at  best,  even  if  she  were  not  so  fearfully  rash  and  unbal- 
anced. As  it  is  1  expect  to  hear  some  sad  story  of  Ida 
Mayhew  before  many  years  pass.  I'll  try  to  brighten  a 
few  days  for  her,  however,  before  I  go  to  town,  and  then 
the  further  we  can  drift  apart  the  better.  How  delightful, 
in  contrast,  is  the  sense  of  rest  and  security  that  Jennie 
Burton  always  inspires  in  spite  of  her  sad  mystery." 


322  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THE   PROTESTANT   CONFESSIONAL 

IDA'S  sleep  was  almost  as  deep  and  quiet,  and,  when  her 
mother  stole  in  to  look  at  her  from  time  to  time  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  her  face  was  as  colorless  as  if  she  had 
taken  the  drug  which  Van  Berg's  heel  had  ground  into  the 
earth;  but  Mrs.  Mayhew  observed  with  satisfaction  that  her 
respiration  was  as  regular  and  natural  as  that  of  a  little  child. 
Wronged  nature  will,  to  a  certain  extent,  forgive  the  young 
and  restore  to  them  the  priceless  treasures  of  health  and 
strength  they  throw  away.  Ida  had  been  a  sad  spendthrift 
of  both  lately,  but  now  that  the  evil  spell  was  broken,  the 
poor  worn  body  and  mind  sank  into  a  long  and  merciful 
oblivion,  during  which  a  new  life  began  to  flow  back  from 
the  as  yet  unexhausted  fountain  of  youth. 

She  awoke  late  in  the  morning,  and  it  was  some  moments 
before  she  could  recall  all  that  had  happened.  Then,  as  she 
remembered  her  dreadful  purpose,  there  came  a  strong  rush 
of  grateful  feeling  that  she  had  awakened — that  life  and  its 
opportunities  were  still  hers. 

For  a  moment  she  portrayed  to  herself  what  she  had  sup- 
posed would  have  happened  that  day— she  imagined  herself 
lying  white  and  still— the  people  coming  and  going  on  tip- 
toe and  speaking  in  hushed  tones,  as  if  death  were  but  a 
troubled  and  easily  broken  sleep;  while  they  looked  at  her 
with  faces  in  which  curiosity  and  horror  were  equally 
blended;  she  saw  her  father  staring  at  her  in  utter  de- 
spair, and  her  mother  trying,  in  a  pitifully  helpless  away, 
to  think  how  appearances  might  still  be  kept  up  and  a  little 


THE   PROTESTANT   CONFESSIONAL  323 

shred  of  respectability  retained.  She  saw  the  artist  looking 
at  her  with  stern,  white  face,  and  heard  him  mutter:  "What 
were  you  to  me  that  you  should  commit  this  awful  deed  and 
lay  it  at  my  door,  thus  blighting  a  life  full  of  the  richest 
promise  with  your   horrible  shadow?" 

"Thank  God,  thank  God!"  she  cried,  passionately. 
"It's  all  like  a  dreadful  dream  and  never  happened." 

"Why,  Ida,  what  is  the  matter?"  said  Mrs.   Mayhew, 

coming  in  hastily. 

"I  had  a  bad  dream,"  said  Ida,  with  something  like  a 

low  sob. 

"Ida,  I  want  you  to  see  the  doctor,  to-day.    You  haven't 

acted  like  yourself  for  over  two  weeks." 
"Mother,  what  time  is  it?" 
"Ten  o'clock  and  after." 

"Please  draw  the  curtain.     I  want  to  see  the  sunlight." 
"The  sun  is  very  hot  to-day." 
"  Is  it  ?"    Then  under  her  breath  she  murmured :  l ' Thank 

God,  so  it  is." 

She  arose  and  began  making  her  toilet  slowly,  for  the 
languor  of  her  long  sleep  and  excessive  fatigue  was  on  her 
still.  But  thought  was  very  busy.  The  subject  uppermost 
in  her  mind  was  the  promised  visit  to  old  Mr.  Eltinge,  and 
she  resolved  to  go  at  once,  if  it  were  a  possible  thing.  Mrs. 
Mayhew  having  again  referred  to  her  purpose  of  sending  for 
a  physician,  Ida  turned  to  her  and  said,  decisively: 

"Mother,  do  you  not  realize  that  I  am  not  a  child? 
What  is  the  use  of  sending  for  a  doctor  when  I  will  not  see 
him  ?  I  ask— I  insist  that  you  and  Mr.  Stanton  interfere 
with  me  no  longer. 

"My  goodness,  Ida,  shall  not  I,  your  own  mother,  take 

any  care  of  you  ?" 

"It  is  too  late  in  the  day  now  to  commence  taking  care 
of  me.  You  have  permitted  me  to  grow  up  so  wanting  in 
mental  and  moral  culture  that  you  naturally  suspect  me  of 
the  vilest  action.  Henceforth  I  take  care  of  myself,  and  act 
for  myself;"  and  she  abruptly  left  the  room  and  went  to  Mr. 


324  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

Burleigh's  office,  requesting  that  the  light  phaeton  and  a  safe 
horse,  such  as  she  could  drive,  should  be  sent  around  to  the 
door  at  once. 

"Miss  Ida,  you've  not  been  well.  Do  you  think  you  had 
better  go  out  in  the  heat  of  the  day?"  asked  Mr.  Burleigh, 
kindly. 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  then  said,  a  little  im- 
pulsively, "Mr.  Burleigh,  I  thank  you  for  speaking  to  me  in 
that  way.  Yes,  I  wish  to  go,  and  think  I  shall  be  the  bet- 
ter for  it." 

As  she  entered  the  large  hall,  Van  Berg,  who  had  been 
on  the  watch,  rose  to  greet  her,  but  she  merely  bowed  po- 
litely and  distantly,  and  passed  at  once  into  the  dining- 
room.  After  a  hasty  breakfast  she  returned  to  her  room 
by  a  side  passage,  and  prepared  for  her  expedition,  paying 
no  heed  to  her  mother's  expostulations. 

Van  Berg  was  on  the  piazza  when  she  came  down,  but 
she  passed  him  swiftly,  giving  him  no  time  to  speak  to  her, 
and  springing  into  the  phaeton,  drove  away.  His  anxiety 
was  so  deep  that  he  took  pains  to  note  the  road  she  took, 
and  then  waited  impatiently  for  her  return. 

After  driving  several  miles,  and  making  a  few  inquiries 
by  the  way,  Ida  found  herself  approaching  an  old-fashioned 
house  secluded  among  the  hills. 

It  was  on  a  shady  side  road,  into  which  but  few  eddies 
from  the  turbulent  current  of  worldly  life  found  their  way. 

The  gate  stood  hospitably  open,  and  she  drove  in  under 
the  shade  of  an  enormous  silver  poplar,  whose  leaves  flut- 
tered in  the  breathless  summer  air,  as  if  each  one  possessed 
a  separate  life  of  its  own. 

As  she  drew  near  to  the  house  she  saw  old  Mr.  Eltinge 
coming  from  his  garden  to  greet  her. 

"I  had  about  given  you  up,"  he  said,  "and  so  you  are 
doubly  welcome.  Old  people  are  like  children,  and  don't 
bear  disappointments  very  well." 

"Did  you  really  want  to  see  me  very  much  ?"  Ida  asked, 
•as  he  assisted  her  to  alight. 


THE    PROTESTANT   CONFESSIONAL  325 

"Yes,  my  child,"  he  replied,  gravely,  holding  her  hand 
in  a  strong,  warm  grasp.  "I  felt,  from  your  manner  last 
evening,  you  were  sincere.  You  come  on  an  errand  that  is 
most  pleasing  to  my  Master,  and  I  welcome  you  in  His  name 
as  well  as  my  own." 

"Perhaps  if  you  knew  all  you  would  not  welcome  me," 
she  said  in  a  low  tone,  turning  away. 

"Only  for  one  cause  could  I  withdraw  my  welcome,"  he 
said,  still  more  gravely. 

"What  is  that?"  she  asked  in  a  lower  tone,  not  daring 
to  look  at  him. 

"If  you  were  not  sincere,"  he  replied,  looking  at  her 
keenly. 

Giving  him  her  hand  again,  and  looking  up  into  his  face, 
she  said,  earnestly : 

"Mr.  Eltinge,  I  am  sincere.  I  could  not  be  otherwise 
with  you  after  your  words  last  night.  I  come  to  you  in 
great  trouble,  with  a  burdened  heart  and  conscience,  and 
I  shall  tell  you  everything,  and  then  you  must  advise  me, 
for  I  have  no  other  friend  to  whom  I  can  go. ' ' 

"Oh,  yes  you  have,  my  child,"  said  the  old  man,  cheer- 
ily. "The  One  they  called  the  'Friend  of  sinners'  is  here 
to-day  to  welcome  you,  and  is  more  ready  to  receive  and 
advise  you  than  I  am.  I'm  not  going  to  do  anything  for 
you  but  lead  you  to  Him  who  said,  'Come  unto  Me,  all  ye 
that  are  heavy  laden;'  and,  'Whosoever  cometh  I  will  in 
nowise  cast  out. '  " 

"How  much  you  make  those  words  mean,  as  you  speak 
them,"  faltered  Ida.  "You  almost  lead  me  to  feel  that  not 
far  away  there  is  some  one,  good  and  tender-hearted,  who 
will  take  me  by  the  hand  with  reassuring  kindness,  as  you 
have." 

"And  you  are  right.  Why,  bless  you,  my  child,  relig- 
ion doesn't  do  us  much  good  until  we  learn  to  know  our 
Lord  as  'good  and  tender-hearted,'  and  so  near,  too,  that 
we  can  speak  to  Him,  whenever  we  wish,  as  the  disciples 
did  in  old  times.     So  don't  be  one  bit  discouraged;  see, 


326  A    FACE   ILLUMINED. 

I'll  fasten  your  horse  right  here  in  the  shade,  and  by  and 
by  I'll  have  him  fed,  for  yon  must  spend  the  day  with  us, 
and  not  go  back  until  the  cool  of  the  evening.  It  hasn't 
seemed  hospitable  that  you  should  have  stood  so  long  here 
under  the  trees;  and  I  didn't  mean  that  you  should,  but 
things  never  turn  out  as  we  expect." 

"It  is  often  well  they  don't,"  thought  Ida,  as  she  looked 
around  the  quiet  and  quaintly  beautiful  spot,  to  which  a 
kind  Providence  had  brought  her.  It  seemed  as  if  her  bur- 
den already  were  beginning  to  grow  lighter. 

"Now  come  in,  my  child,  and  tell  me  all  your 
trouble." 

"Please,  Mr.  Eltinge,  may  I  not  go  back  with  you  into 
the  garden  ?•' 

"Yes,  why  not?  We  can  talk  there  just  as  well;"  and 
he  led  her  to  a  rustic  seat  in  a  shady  walk,  while  from  a 
tool- house  near  he  brought  out  for  himself  a  chair  that  had 
lost  its  back. 

"I'll  lean  against  this  pear-tree,"  he  said.  "It's  young 
and  strong,  and  owes  me  a  good  turn.  Now,  my  child,  tell 
me  what  you  think  best,  and  then  I'll  tell  you  of  One  whose 
word  and  touch  cures  every  trouble." 

But  poor  Ida  had  sudden  and  strong  misgivings.  As 
she  saw  the  old  gentleman  surrounded  by  his  flowers  and 
fruits,  as  she  glanced  hesitatingly  into  his  serene,  quiet  face, 
from  which  the  fire  and  passion  of  youth  had  long  since 
faded,  she  thought:  "So  Adam  might  have  looked  had  he 
never  sinned  but  grown  old  in  his  beautiful  garden.  This 
aged  man,  who  lives  nearer  heaven  than  earth,  can't  under- 
stand my  wicked,  passionate  heart.  My  story  will  only 
shock  and  pain  him,  and  it's  a  shame  to  pollute  this  place 
with  such  a  story." 

"You  spoke  as  if  you  were  alone  and  friendless  in  the 
world,"  said  Mr.  Eltinge,  trying  to  help  her  make  a  begin- 
ning.    "Are  you  an  orphan?" 

"No,"  said  Ida,  with  rising  color,  and  averting  her  face. 
"My  parents  are  both  living." 


THE   PROTESTANT   CONFESSIONAL  327 

"And  yet  you  cannot  go  to  them?  Poor  child!  That 
is  the  worst  kind  of  orphanage." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Eltinge,  this  place  seems  like  the  garden  of 
Eden,  and  I  am  bringing  into  it  a  heart  full  of  trouble  and 
wickedness." 

"Well,  my  child,"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  with  a 
smile.  "I've  brought  here  a  heart  full  of  trouble  and 
wickedness  many  a  time,  so  you  need  not  fear  hurting 
the  garden." 

"But  I  fear  I  shall  pain  and  shock  you." 

"I  hope  you  will.  I'm  going  to  feel  with  and  for  you. 
What's  the  good  of  my  sitting  here  like  a  post?" 

"Well,"  said  Ida,  desperately,  "1  promised  to  tell  you 
everything,  and  I  will.  If  there  is  any  chance  for  me  I'll 
then  know  it,  for  you  will  not  deceive  me.  Somehow,  what 
I  am  and  what  I  have  to  say  seemed  in  such  sad  contrast 
with  you  and  your  garden  that  I  became  afraid.  You  asked 
about  my  parents.  My  father  is  a  very  unhappy  man.  He 
seems  to  have  lost  hope  and  courage.  I  now  begin  to  see 
that  I  have  been  chiefly  to  blame  for  this.  I  do  nothing 
for  his  comfort.  Indeed,  I  have  been  so  occupied  with 
myself  and  my  own  pleasures  that  I  have  given  him  little 
thought.  He  does  not  spend  much  of  his  time  at  home, 
and  when  I  saw  him  he  was  always  tired,  sad,  and  moody. 
He  seemed  to  possess  nothing  that  could  minister  to  my 
pride  and  pleasure  save  money,  and  I  took  that  freely,  with 
scarcely  even  thanks  in  return. 

"I  don't  like  to  speak  against  mother,  but  truth  compels 
me  to  add  that  she  acts  much  in  the  same  way.  I  don't 
think  she  loves  papa.  Perhaps  our  treatment  is  the  chief 
reason  why  life,  seemingly,  has  become  to  him  a  burden. 
When  he's  not  busy  in  the  office  he  drinks,  and  drinks,  and 
I  fear  it  is  only  to  forget  his  trouble.  Once  or  twice  this 
summer  he  has  looked  like  a  man,  and  appeared  capable  of 
throwing  off  this  destroying  habit,  and  then  by  my  wretched 
folly  I  made  him  do  worse  than  ever,"  and  she  burst  into 
a  remorseful  passion  of  tears. 


328  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"That's  right,  my  child,"  said  Mr.  Eltinge,  taking  off 
his  spectacles  that  he  might  wipe  his  sympathetic  eyes; 
"you  were  very  much  to  blame.  Thank  God,  there  are  no 
Pharisees  in  this  garden.     God  bless  you;  go  on." 

"This  that  I've  told  you  about  my  father  ought  to  be 
my  chief  trouble,  but  it  isn't,"  faltered  Ida.  "I  fear  you 
won't  understand  me  very  well  now,  and  you  certainly  will 
never  be  able  to  understand  how  I  could  be  tempted  to  do 
something  at  the  very  thought  of  which  I  now  shudder." 

"No  matter;  my  Master  can  understand  it  all  if  I  can't. 
He's  listening,  too,  remember." 

"It  frightens  me  to  think  so,"  said  Ida,  in  an  awed, 
trembling  tone. 

"That's  because  you  don't  know  Him.  If  you  were 
severely  wounded,  would  you  be  frightened  to  know  that 
a  good  physician  was  right  at  hand  to  heal  you  ?" 

11  But  isn't  God  too  infinite  and  far  away  to  listen  to  the 
story  of  my  weakness  and  folly  ?  I  dare  not  think  of  Him. 
My  difficulty  is  just  this — he  is  God,  and  what  am  I?" 

"One  of  His  little  children,  my  dear.  Yes,  He  is  infinite, 
but  not  far  away.  In  the  worst  of  my  weakness  and  folly 
He  listened  patiently,  and  helped  me  out  of  my  trouble. 
How  are  you  going  to  get  over  this  fact  ?  He  has  listened 
to  and  helped  multitudes  of  others  in  every  kind  of  trouble 
and  wrong.     How  are  you  going  to  get  over  these  facts?" 

Ida  slowly  wiped  her  eyes.  Her  face  grew  very  pale, 
and  she  looked  at  Mr.  Eltinge  steadily  and  earnestly,  as  if 
to  gather  from  his  expression  and  manner,  as  well  as  words, 
the  precise  effect  of  her  confession. 

"Mr.  Eltinge,"  she  said,  "at  this  time  yesterday  I  did 
not  expect  to  be  alive  to-day.  I  expected  to  be  dead,  and 
by  my  own  hand.     Will  God  forgive  such  wickedness?" 

"Dead!"  exclaimed  the  old  gentleman,  starting  up. 

"Yes,"  said  Ida,  growing  still  paler  and  trembling  with 
apprehension,  but  still  looking  fixedly  at  Mr.  Eltinge  as  if 
she  would  learn  from  his  face  whether  she  could  hope  or 
must  despair  because  of  her  intended  crime. 


THE    PROTESTANT   CONFESSIONAL  329 

"And  what  changed  jour  awful  purpose,  my  child?" 
he  said,  very  gravely. 

"Your  words  at  the  prayer-meeting  last  night." 

The  old  gentleman  removed  his  hat  and  revereDtly  bowed 
his  head.  "0  God,"  he  murmured,  "thou  hast  been  merci- 
ful to  me  all  my  days;  I  thank  Thee  for  this  crowning 
mercy." 

"But  will  God  be  merciful  to  me?"  cried  Ida,  in  a  tone 
of  sharp  agony. 

The  old  man  came  to  her  side,  and  placing  his  hands  on 
her  head  spoke  with  almost  the  authority  and  solemnity  of 
one  of  God's  ancient  prophets. 

"Yes,  my  child,  yes,  He  will  be  merciful  unto  you — He 
will  forgive  you.  But  in  your  deep  need  you  require  more 
than  the  assurance  of  a  poor  sinful  mortal  like  yourself. 
Listen  to  God's  own  word:  'Thus  saith  the  high  and  lofty 
One  that  inhabiteth  eternity,  whose  name  is  Holy:  I  dwell 
in  the  high  and  holy  place,  with  him  also  that  is  of  a  con- 
trite and  humble  spirit,  to  revive  the  spirit  of  the  humble, 
and  to  revive  the  heart  of  the  contrite  ones. ' 

"  lLike  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the  Lord 
pitieth  them  that  fear  him.' 

'  lIf  we  confess  our  sins  He  is  faithful  and  just  to  forgive 
us  our  sins;  and  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ,  his  Son,  cleans- 
eth  us  from  all  sin. '  God  answers  your  question  himself, 
my  child." 

"Oh,  may  He  bless  you  for  your  kindness  to  me!  It  has 
saved  me  from  despair  and  death,"  sobbed  Ida,  burying  her 
face  in  her  hands,  and  giving  way  to  the  natural  expression 
of  feeling  that  ever  relieves  a  heart  that  has  long  been  over- 
burdened. 

For  a  few  moments  Mr.  Eltinge  said  nothing,  but  gently 
stroked  the  bowed  head  as  he  might  caress  a  daughter  of  his 
own.  At  last  he  asked,  with  a  voice  that  was  broken  from 
sympathy  with  her  emotion. 

"How  about  my  Master,  whose  kind  providence  has 
brought  all  this  about?" 


330  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

Ida  gradually  became  more  quiet,  and  as  soon  as  she 
could  trust  herself  to  speak  she  lifted  her  head  and  answered: 

"Mr.  Eltinge,  I  think  I  can  learn  to  love  God  as  you 
portray  Him  to  me.  But  in  my  imperfection  and  wicked- 
ness I  have  not  dared  to  think  of  Him  till  I  came  here. ' ' 

"Now,  isn't  that  just  like  the  devil's  work!"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Eltinge.  "It  was  our  imperfection  and  wickedness  that 
brought  Christ  to  our  rescue,  and  yet  you  have  been  made 
to  believe  that  your  chief  claim  upon  our  Divine  Friend  is 
a  hopeless  barrier  against  you !' ' 

"Mr.  Eltinge,"  said  Ida,  slowly,  as  if  she  were  trying  to 
be  sure  that  each  word  expressed  her  thought,  "it  was  that 
word,  friend ,  as  you  used  it  last  night,  that  caught  my  ear 
and  revived  my  hopes.  I  now  believe  that  if  you  had  spoken 
only  of  duty  or  truth,  or  even  of  God  in  the  ordinary  way, 
I  should  now  be" — she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
shuddered — "I  should  not  be  in  this  sunny  garden  with 
the  memory  that  your  hands  have  rested  on  my  head  in 
blessing.  If  I  am  to  live,  I  shall  need,  above  all  things, 
a  friend,  and  a  very  patient  and  helpful  one,  or  else  my 
burden  will  be  heavier  than  I  can  carry.  I  have  told  you 
about  my  parents,  and  you  thus  know  what  I  must  look 
forward  to  in  my  own  home.  But  such  is  my  weakness 
and  folly,  I  have  a  far  worse  trouble  than  that.  You  may 
smile  at  it  and  think  that  time  will  bring  speedy  relief. 
Perhaps  it  will — I  hope  so.  I  feel  that  I  know  so  little 
about  myself  and  everything  else  that  I  can  never  be  sure 
of  anything  again.  Mr.  Eltinge,  I  have  been  so  unfortunate 
as  to  give  my  whole  heart's  love  to  a  man  who  despises  me. 
At  first  he  seemed  somewhat  attracted,  but  he  soon  discov- 
ered how  imperfect  and  ignorant  I  was,  and  coldly  with- 
drew. He  is  now  paying  his  addresses,  I  believe,  to  an- 
other lady,  and  I  must  admit  that  she  is  a  lovely  girl,  and 
every  way  worthy  of  him.  I  think  she  will  return  his  re- 
gard, if  she  does  not  already.  But  whether  she  does  or  not 
cannot  matter,  for  he  is  so  far  my  superior  in  every  respect 
that  he  would  never  think  of  me  again.     In  order  to  hide 


THE    PROTESTANT   CONFESSIONAL  331 

my  foolish,  hopeless  passion,  I  received  attentions  from  an- 
other man  that  I  detested,  and  who  has  since  proved  him- 
self an  utter  villain,  but  it  so  happened  that  my  name  be- 
came so  closely  associated  with  this  low  fellow,  that  when 
my  heart  was  breaking  for  another  reason,  all  thought  that 
it  was  because  I  was  infatuated  with  a  man  I  loathed.  Even 
Mr.  Van  Berg  thought  so,  and  I  intended  to  compel  him  to 
respect  me,  or  at  least  to  think  better  of  me,  even  if  I  had 
to  die  to  carry  out  my  purpose.  I  was  desperate  and  blind 
with  disappointment  and  despair.  To  a  strong  man,  I  sup- 
pose, these  things  do  not  count  so  greatly,  but  I'm  inclined 
to  think  that  with  us  poor  women  our  heart-life  is  every- 
thing. I  fairly  shiver  at  the  thought  of  the  future.  How 
can  I  carry  this  heavy  burden,  year  after  year  ?  Oh,  how 
can  I  bear  it?  How  can  I  bear  it?"  and  her  eyes  became 
full  of  desperate  trouble  again,  at  the  prospect  before  her. 

44  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Eltinge  in  broken  tones,  "my 
heart  goes  out  to  you  in  sympathy  as  if  you  were  my  own 
daughter,  but  old  James  Eltinge  can  do  but  little  toward 
curing  your  deep  troubles." 

"I  do  not  hope  to  be  cured,"  said  Ida,  despondently, 
44  but  I  would  be  very  glad  if  I  could  think  my  life  would 
not  be  a  burden  to  myself  and  others." 

Mr.  Eltinge  pondered  a  few  moments,  and  then  bright- 
ened up,  as  if  a  pleasant  thought  had  struck  him. 

"What  do  you  think  of  this  pear  tree  against  which  I'm 
leaning?"  he  asked.  "You  remember  I  said  it  owed  me  a 
good  turn,  and  perhaps  I  can  get  my  best  fruit  from  it  to- 
day." 

"I  think  it's  a  pretty  tree,"  said  Ida,  wonderingly;  "and 
now  I  notice  that  there  are  some  fine  pears  on  it." 

"Yes,  and  they  are  about  ripe.  Let  us  see  if  we  can't 
reverse  the  old  story  with  which  the  Bible  commences. 
The  man  shall  tempt  the  woman  this  time,. and  this  shall 
be  a  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  good,  not  of  evil.  Poor 
child,  you  know  enough  about  that  already;"  and  the  old 
gentleman  climbed  up  on  his  chair,  and  with  his  cane  loos- 


332  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

ened  a  large  yellow  pear  with  a  crimson  blush  on  its  sunny 

side. 

1 '  Take  my  hat  and  catch  it, ' '  he  had  said  to  Ida ;  and  she 

did  so. 

"Now,  I've  made  you  an  accomplice  already,  and  so 
you  may  as  well  eat  the  pear  while  I  tell  you  a  bit  of  his- 
tory concerning  this  tree.  It  may  help  me  to  suggest  some 
very  encouraging  truths." 

But  Ida  held  her  pear  and  looked  wistfully  at  the  speaker. 
Her  heart  was  still  too  sore  to  enter  into  the  half-playful  man- 
ner by  which  he  sought  to  give  a  less  gloomy  cast  to  her 
thoughts. 

"Some  years  ago,"  said  Mr.  Eltinge,  resuming  his  seat, 
"we  had  a  night  of  darkness  and  violent  storm  like  that 
through  which  you,  poor  child,  have  just  passed.  The 
garden  fence  was  blown  down,  and  some  stray  cattle  got 
in  and  made  sad  havoc.  This  pear  tree  was  a  little  thing 
then,  and  when  I  came  out  in  the  morning  it  was  in  a  bad 
plight,  I  can  tell  you.  The  wind  had  snapped  off  the  top, 
and  it  lay  withering  on  the  ground.  Worse  than  this,  one 
of  the  cattle  had  stepped  on  it,  bruising  it  severely,  and 
half  breaking  it  off  near  the  root.  I  don't  know  which  of 
the  young  men  you  have  named  this  unruly  beast  typifies— 
both  of  'em,  I'm  inclined  to  think." 

Here  Ida  shook  her  head  in  protest  against  Van  Berg 
being  classed  with  Sibley,  and  at  the  same  time  could  not 
forbear  the  glimmer  of  a  smile  at  the  old  man's  homely 
imagery. 

"Well,  according  to  my  creed,"  continued  Mr.  Eltinge, 
"  'while  there's  life  there's  hope,'  so  I  lifted  up  the  poor, 
prostrate  little  tree,  and  tied  it  to  a  stout  stake.  Then  I 
got  grafting  wax  and  covered  the  bruises  and  broken  places, 
and  finally  tied  all  up  as  carefully  as  I  used  to  my  boys' 
fingers  when  they  cut  them,  sixty  odd  years  ago.  And 
now  mark,  my  child;  I  had  done  all  that  I  could  do.  I 
couldn't  make  the  wounds  heal  or  even  a  new  twig  start; 
and  yet  here  is  a  stately  young  tree  beginning  to  bear  deli- 


THE   PROTESTANT   CONFESSIONAL  338 

cious  fruit.  Nature  took  my  sorry- looking  little  case  in 
hand,  and  slowly  at  first,  but  by  and  by  with  increased 
vigor  and  rapidity,  she  developed  what  you  see.  I  have 
an  affection  for  this  tree,  and  like  to  lean  against  it,  and 
somst'mes  I  half  fancy  it  likes  to  have  me." 

"I  should  think  it  ought  to,"  said  Ida,  heartily,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  but  a  smile  on  her  lips. 

"Well,  now,  my  child,  to  go  on  with  my  parable,  what 
nature  was  to  this  pear  tree,  nature's  God  must  be  to  you. 
We  cannot  find  in  nature  nor  in  the  happiest  human  love 
that  which  can  satisfy  our  deep  spiritual  need;  but  we  can 
find  all  in  Him  who  came  from  heaven  in  our  behalf.  Jesus 
Christ  is  the  patient,  helpful  Friend  you  need.  He  brings 
more  than  joy — even  the  peace  and  rest  that  follow  full 
trust  in  One  pledged  to  take  care  of  us  and  make  every- 
thing turn  out  for  the  best.  He  says  of  those  who  come  to 
Him,  'I  give  unto  them  eternal  life,  and  they  shall  never 
perish.'  If  you  will  take  this  life  from  Him  it  will  never 
be  a  burden  to  you,  and  it  will  always  be  a  blessing  to 
others." 

"I  fear  I  don't  quite  understand  you,  Mr.  Eltinge, 
What  is  this  'eternal  life' — this  new,  added  life  which  you 
say  Christ  offers,  and  which  I'm  sure  I'd  be  very  glad  to 
take  if  I  knew  lew?" 

"Let  Jesus  answer  you  Himself,  my  "child.  He  said 
plainly:  'This  is  life  eternal,  that  they  might  know  thee 
the  only  true  God,' and  Jesus  Christ,  whom  thou  hast  sent.' 
Perhaps  I  can  make  our  Lord's  words  clearer  from  your  own 
experience,  if  ~*ou  will  permit  me  to  refer  to  your  feelings 
toward  the  man  who,  whether  worthy  or  not,  has  won  your 
love.  Suppose  he  is  all  you  imagine,  and  that  he  lavished 
on  you  the  best  treasures  of  his  heart;  would  not  life  at  his 
sside  seem  life  in  very  truth,  and  life  elsewhere  but  mere 
existence  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ida,  with  bowed  head  and  pale  cheeks.  "I 
begin  to  understand  you  now.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  could 
welcome  sorrow,  poverty,  and  even  death,  at  his  side,  and 


334  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

call  life  rich  and  full.     But  as  it  is — oh,  Mr.  Eltinge,  teach 
me  jour  faith,  lest  I  give  way  to  despair  again  I" 

"Poor  child!  poor  child!  Don't  my  white  hairs  teach 
you  that  I  am  on  the  threshold  of  the  home  in  which  'God 
shall  wipe  away  all  tears'?" 

"I  envy  you,"  cried  Ida,  almost  passionately.  "Think 
how  far  I  am  from  that  home!" 

"Well,  you  are  not  far  from  the  Divine  Friend  who  leads 
to  that  home,  and  when  you  come  to  know  Him  and  His 
love  your  life  will  begin  to  grow  richer  and  sweeter  and 
fuller  to  all  eternity.  This  is  eternal  life.  It's  knowing 
the  God  who  loves  us  and  whom  we  have  learned  to  love. 
It's  not  living  on  and  on  forever  in  a  beautiful  heaven,  any 
more  than  the  earthly  life  you  crave  is  living  on  and  on  in 
a  pleasant  home  such  as  the  man  of  your  heart  might  pro- 
vide. The  true  life  is  the  presence  of  the  loved  one  Him- 
self, and  all  that  He  is  to  us  and  all  that  He  can  do  for  us; 
and  if  a  mortal  and  finite  creature  seems  to  you  so  able  to 
impart  that  life,  how  infinitely  more  blessed  will  the  life 
eventually  be  which  comes  from  a  God  of  boundless  power 
and  boundless  love!" 

"Alas,  Mr.  Eltinge,  God  seems  too  boundless." 

"Did  God  seem  too  boundless  to  the  little  children  whom 
He  took  in  his  arms  and  blessed?" 

"Oh  that  I  had  been  one  of  them!"  said  Ida,  with  a  sud- 
den rush  of  tears. 

"Come,  my  dear  young  friend,  do  not  expect  too  much 
of  yourself  to-day.  You  cannot  take  in  all  this  truth  at 
once,  any  more  than  this  young  pear  tree  could  take  all  the 
dew  and  sunshine,  cold  and  heat  (for  autumn  frosts  are 
needed  as  well  as  spring  showers)  that  nature  had  in  store 
for  it,  but  its  life  was  assured  from  the  moment  it  was  able 
to  receive  nature's  restoring  influences.  So  with  greater 
certainty  a  happy,  useful  life  is  assured  to  you  as  soon  as 
you  receive  Jesus  Christ  as  your  Saviour,  Teacher,  and 
Life-giver,  'As  many  as  received  Him,  to  them  gave  He 
power  to  become  the  sons  of  God,'  and  I  assure  you  the 


THE   PROTESTANT   CONFESSIONAL  385 

Great  King  will  look  after  His  children  right  royally.  But 
you  don't  know  Him  very  well  yet,  and  so  cannot  have  the 
life  which  flows  from  His  fulness  of  life.  Suppose  you  come 
here  mornings,  and  we'll  read  together  the  story  of  Jesus, 
just  as  it  is  told  in  the  New  Testament,  and  I  don't  believe 
it  will  be  long  before  you  will  say  to  me  that  my  Friend  is 
yours  also.  Now,  come  up  to  the  house  and  I'll  introduce 
you  to  my  sister.  You  think  me  a  saint;  but  I'll  show  you 
what  a  human  appetite  I  have." 

"I  hear  a  brook  near  by,"  said  Ida;  "may  I  not  go  to  it 
and  bathe  my  face?' ' 

14  Yes,  do  what  you  like  best  while  here.  Would  you 
rather  bathe  in  the  brook  than  at  the  house?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  Everything  seems  sacred  here,  and  I  can 
imagine  the  brook  yonder  to  be  a  rill  from  the  Jordan. 

"Don't  be  superstitious  and  sentimental,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  shaking  his  head  gravely.  "The  life  of  a  Chris- 
tian means  honest,  patient  work,  and  Christ's  blood  alone 
can  wash  us  till  we  are  whiter  than  snow." 

Ida's  face  grew  earnest  and  noble  as  she  stepped  to  the 
symbolic   tree  and   placed   her  hand  on  one  of   its  lower 

branches. 

"Mr.  Eltinge,"  she  said  gently  and  gravely,  "as  this 
broken,  wounded  tree  received  all  the  help  nature  gave  it, 
so  I,  more  bruised  and  broken,  will  try  to  receive  all  the 
help  Christ  will  give  me  to  bear  my  burden  and  live  a  life 
pleasing  to  him.  I  shall  be  very  glad  indeed  to  come  here 
and  learn  to  know  him  better  under  your  most  kind  and 
faithful  teaching,  and  as  I  learn,  I  will  try  to  do  my  best; 
but  oh,  Mr.  Eltinge,  you  can't  realize  how  very  weak  and 
imperfect — how  ignorant  and  full  of  faults  I  am!" 

"Just  so  the  poor  little  tree  might  have  spoken  if  it  had 
had  a  voice.  Indeed  I  thought  it  would  die.  But  now  look 
at  the  fruit  over  your  head.  You  shall  take  some  of  it  home, 
and  every  pear  will  be  a  sermon  to  you— a  juicy  one,  too.  If 
you  will  do  as  you  say,  my  child,  all  will  be  well. 

She  bathed  her  tear-stained  face  in  the  brook,  and  came 


336  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

back  looking  fairer  than  any  flower  of  the  garden.     Then 
they  went  up  to  the  old-fashioned  house. 

"My  dear,  this  is  my  sister,  Miss  Eltinge,"  he  said,  pre- 
senting a  white-haired  old  lady,  who  still  was  evidently 
much  younger  than  her  brother.  Then,  turning  suddenly 
around  in  comical  dismay,  he  said,  "Why,  bless  you,  my 
child,  I  don't  know  your  name!  Well,  well,  no  matter!  I 
know  you.  There  are  people  whose  names  I've  known  half 
my  life,  and  yet  I  don't  know  them  and  don't  trust  'em." 

"My  name  is  Ida  May  hew,"  said  the  young  girl  simply. 
"I  heard  Mr.  Eltinge  speak  at  the  prayer- meeting  last  night 
in  such  a  way  that  I  wanted  to  see  him  and  ask  his  help  and 
advice,  and  he  has  been  very,  very  kind  to  me.  He  can 
tell  you  all." 

"Yes,  if  he  chooses,"  said  the  old  gentleman  with  a 
laugh.  "Sister  knows  me  too  well  in  my  character  of 
father  confessor  to  expect  me  to  tell  everything." 

They  made  her  at  home  as  the  simple  and  well-bred 
only  can  do. 

After  dinner  Miss  Eltinge  tried  to  entertain  her  for  a 
while,  but  at  last  said,  with  appreciative  tact: 

"My  dear,  I  think  you  will  best  enjoy  yourself  if  you 
are  left  to  range  the  old  house  and  place  at  will.  After  my 
brother  has  rested  he  will  join  you  again." 

Ida  was  glad  to  be  alone.  She  had  made  a  promise  of 
far-reaching  and  vital  import  that  morning.  Life  was  tak- 
ing on  new  aspects  that  were  so  unfamiliar  that  she  was  be- 
wildered. She  went  back  to  the  garden,  and,  taking  Mr. 
Eltinge' s  seat,  leaned  against  the  emblematic  pear-tree, 
which  she  curiously  began  to  associate  with  herself,  and 
for  which  she  was  already  conscious  of  something  like 
affection. 

"Oh,"  she  sighed,  "if  my  life  would  only  come  to  abound 
with  deeds  corresponding  to  the  fruit  that  is  bending  these 
boughs  above  me,  it  could  not  be  a  burden,  though  it  might 
be  very  sad  and  lonely.  I  now  begin  to  understand  Jennie 
Burton — her  constant  effort  in  behalf  of  others.    But  he  will 


THE    PROTESTANT   CONFESSIONAL  337 

comfort  her  before  long.  Her  dark  days  are  nearly  over. 
No  matter  how  deep  or  great  her  troubles  may  have  been, 
they  must  vanish  in  the  sunshine  of  such  a  man's  love.  I 
wonder  if  he  has  spoken  plainly  yet — but  what  need  of 
words?  His  eyes  and  manner  have  told  her  all  a  hundred 
times.  I  wish  she  could  be  my  friend,  I  wish  I  could  speak  to 
her  plainly,  for  she  is  so  kind  and  wise;  but  I  must  shun 
her,  or  else  she'll  discover  the  secret  that  I'd  hide  from  her 
even  more  carefully  than  from  him,  if  such  a  thing  were 
possible.  I  wonder  if  they  ever  met  before  they  came  here. 
I  never  saw  one  human  being  look  at  another  as  she  some- 
times looks  at  him.  I  believe  that  deep  in  her  heart  she 
fairly  idolizes  him,  although  her  singular  self-control  en- 
ables her,  as  a  general  thing,  to  treat  him  with  the  ease 
and  frankness  of  a  friend.  Well,  she  may  love  him  more 
deeply  than  I  do  because  possessing  a  deeper  nature.  I  can 
but  give  all  I  have.  But  I  think  my  love  would  be  like  the 
little  brook  over  there.  It's  not  very  deep  or  obtrusive, 
but  Mr.  Eltinge  says  it  has  never  failed.  Well,  well!  these 
are  not  the  thoughts  for  me,  though  how  I  can  help  them 
I  cannot  tell.  I  will  try  to  win  a  little  respect  from  him 
before  we  part,  and  then  my  life,  like  this  pear-tree,  must 
be  full  of  good  deeds  for  those  who  have  the  best  right  to 
receive  them,"  and  taking  a  small  penknife  from  her  pocket 
she  mounted  the  chair,  and  carved  within  the  two  lower 
branches  where  they  could  not  easily  be  discovered  the 
words : 

"Ida  May  hew." 


15— 'Roe— XII 


338  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  XLI1 

THE  CORNERSTONE  OF  CHARACTER 

AFTER  the  characteristic  act  by  which  Ida  had  identi- 
fied the  tree — once  so  bruised  and  broken — with 
herself,  she  sat  down  again  at  its  foot  and  thought 
long  and  deeply.  The  deep  hush  and  quiet  of  the  quaint 
old  garden  was  just  what  she  needed  after  the  delirium  of 
her  passion  and  despair.  Her  pulse  began  to  grow  more 
even,  and  her  beautiful  face  sweet  and  noble  with  the  better 
thoughts  she  now  was  entertaining.  As  she  sat  there  lean- 
ing her  head  against  the  bole  of  the  tree,  the  shadows  of  the 
leaves  above  deepening  and  brightening  across  her  pale 
features,  and  her  large,  dark  eyes  often  growing  humid 
with  sympathy  with  her  thoughts,  she  made  as  fair  a  pic- 
ture as  could  Eve  herself,  were  she  dreaming  over  her  lost 
garden- home.     At  last  she  said  slowly: 

"I  wonder  if  it  will  be  possible  for  a  Divine  love  grad- 
ually to  supplant  a  human  love  ?  '  Whom  to  know  is  eter- 
nal life. '  This  hope  seems  to  be  my  only  hope— my  only 
remedy,  my  one  chance.  I  must  soon  go  back  to  the  city, 
where  I  cannot  see  good  old  x\lr.  Eltinge,  where  I  will  no 
longer  have  the  excitement  of  occasionally  meeting  Mr.  Van 
Berg,  where  I  shall  be  face  to  face  with  only  the  hard,  pro- 
saic difficulties  that  will  abound  in  the  world  without,  but 
especially  in  my  own  home.  I  plainly  foresee  that  I  shall 
become  bitter,  selfish,  and  reckless  again,  unless  I  find  such 
a  Friend  as  Mr.  Eltinge  describes,  who  will  give  me  daily 
and  positive  help;  a  mere  decorous,  formal  religion  will  be 
of  no  more  use  to  me  than  pictures  of  bread  to  the  famish- 


THE    CORNERSTONE    OF    CHARACTER  339 

ing.  I  must  have  a  strong,  patient  Friend  who  will  see  me 
through  my  troubles,  or  I'm  lost.  I  may  even  grow  as  des- 
perate and  wicked  as  I  have  been  again,"  and  she  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands  and  fairly  trembled  with  apprehension. 

"Come,  my  child,  cheer  up!  All  will  end  well  yet. 
Take  an  old  man's  word  for  it.  I've  lived  through  several 
troubles  that  I  thought  would  finish  me,  thanks  to  the  good 
Lord,  and  here  I  am  now,  safe  and  sound  and  in  the  posses- 
sion of  two  good  homes — this  one  and  the  better  one  over 
the  river  they  say  is  so  dark.  I  don't  believe  it's  much 
more  of  a  river  to  the  Christian  than  yonder  little  brook; 
but  I  can  tell  you,  my  child,  we'll  find  a  wonderful  differ- 
ence between  the  two  shores." 

Ida  found  that  the  old  gentleman  had  joined  her  unper- 
ceived,  and  she  told  him  of  her  fears. 

"Now,  don't  worry,"  he  answered,  "about  what  will 
happen  when  you  go  back  to  the  city.  Christ  himself  has 
said:  'Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.'  Your 
whole  duty  is  to  do  your  best  now,  and  he'll  take  care  of 
the  future.  He  did  not  call  himself  the  'Good  Shepherd* 
for  nothing,  as  I,  and  millions  of  others,  know  from  ex- 
perience. He'll  see  you  over  all  the  hard  places,  if  you 
ask  him  to,  and  just  follow  patiently.  You  may  not  be  able 
to  see  the  way  or  know  where  he  is  leading  you,  any  more 
than  the  sheep;  but  the  path,  however  flinty  and  thorny, 
will  end  in  the  fold.  Of  that  be  assured."  And  he  gave 
her  one  or  two  sad  chapters  from  his  own  life  of  which  he 
could  now  speak  calmly  and  understandingly. 

As  they  were  about  to  part,  Ida  said:  "Mr.  Eltinge,  I'm 
so  ignorant  that  I  have  not  the  remotest  idea  how  to  com- 
mence this  Christian  life.  I  greatly  wish  to  form  a  char- 
acter worthy  of  respect,  but  I  don't  know  how  to  set 
about  it." 

"Commence  by  living  simple  and  true,  my  dear.  Truth- 
fulness is  the  cornerstone  of  the  character  that  men  most 
respect  and  God  will  honor.  None  of  us  can  be  perfect,  but 
we  can  all  be  honest,  and  pretend  to  be  no  better  than  we 


340  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

are.  Just  simply  follow  your  conscience,  pray  daily  for 
light  and  guidance,  and  do  the  best  you  can.  Live  up  to 
the  light  as  you  get  it,  and  remember  the  good  Lord  will 
be  as  patient  with  you  as  a  mother  with  her  baby  that  is 
just  learning  to  walk.  Be  truthful  and  sincere  as  you  have 
been  with  me  to-day,  and  all  will  be  well." 

Then  he  brought  a  step-ladder,  and  filled  a  little 
basket  with  the  pears.  "They'll  ripen  nicely  in  your 
drawer,"  he  said,  "and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  found 
'em  kind  of  nourishing  to  your  soul  as  well  as  body,  now 
you  know  how  they  grew." 

With  a  promise  to  come  on  the  morrow  Ida  drove  away 
more  cheered  and  comforted  than  she  had  thought  it  pos- 
sible ever  to  be  again.  But  as  she  approached  the  hotel 
piazza,  and  saw  the  artist  talking  with  Jennie  Burton,  she 
experienced  a  sinking  of  heart  that  taught  her  how  difficult 
her  path  must  be  at  best. 

Van  Berg  hastened  down  eagerly  to  assist  her  to  alight, 
for  her  reappearance  lifted  a  terrible  load  of  anxiety  from 
his  mind.  In  spite  of  herself  the  color  rushed  into  the 
cheeks  which  of  late  had  become  so  pale,  and  the  hand  she 
gave  him  trembled  as  he  helped  her  from  the  phaeton. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  again.  I've 
been  oppressed  with  fear  all  day,"  he  could  not  forbear 
saying,  in  a  low  tone. 

"I  suppose  you  naturally  felt  that  you  could  not  trust 
me,"  she  replied,  averting  her  face.  "I've  been  spending 
the  day  with  a  friend." 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said  eagerly.  "I  seem  fated  to  wound 
you,  but  I  wish  they  might  hereafter  be  the  wounds  of  a 
friend." 

She  would  not  trust  herself  to  look  up  till  she  became 
more  composed,  but  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  say: 
"Do  friends  give  only  wounds?" 

Van  Berg  bit  his  lip  and  followed  her  slowly  up  the 
steps. 

"I  see  from  your  basket,"    said   Miss  Burton,  kindly, 


THE    CORNERSTONE    OF    CHARACTER  341 

"that  you  have  been  foraging.     I  hope  you  had  good  suc- 
cess." 

11  Yes,  I  think  I've  been  successful,"  replied  Ida,  who 
was  desperately  sorry  that  Miss  Burton  had  intercepted  her 
and  must  see  her  burning  cheeks.  "I  have  not  found  roses, 
as  you  did,  but  perhaps  these  are  more  in  keeping  with  my 
prosaic  and  material  nature;"  and  she  lifted  the  cover  and 
offered  the  fruit. 

"You  treat  me  better  than  I  did  you,"  said  Miss  Burton, 
smilingly,  and  ignoring  an  implied  satire  which  Ida  had  not 
intended.     "I  did  not  give  you  any  of  my  roses." 

Ida  shot  a  side  glance  at  the  artist  which  said  to  him 
plainly: 

"But  Mr.  Van  Berg  did,"  and  he  flushed  deeply. 

Then  she  selected  a  superb  pear,  and  after  looking  at  it 
keenly  a  moment,  handed  it  to  him  with  the  low  words: 

"I  think  you  will  find  that  no  worm  has  been  in  that." 

He  took  it  with  evident  embarrassment  and  was  about 
to  speak  eagerly,  but  she  passed  quickly  in,  and  went  to 
her  room. 

"I  am  justly  punished,"  said  Van  Berg  frankly.  "Miss 
Burton,  please  let  me  explain  her  allusion." 

"I  would  rather  you  would  not,"  she  replied  promptly, 
"for  Miss  Mayhew  made  it  in  a  low  tone,  showing  that  she 
intended  it  for  your  ear  only." 

"Well,  then,  I  must  content  myself  by  saying  that  stand- 
ing near  this  spot,  not  long  since,  I  acted  like  a  fool." 

"It's  an  excellent  sign  of  wisdom,  Mr.  Van  Berg,"  she 
said  laughingly,  "that  you  have  discovered  the  fact.  The 
only  fools  to  be  despaired  of  are  those  who  never  find 
themselves  out." 

"Did  you  ever  do  a  very  foolish  thing,  Miss  Jennie?" 

"It  would  be  a  very  foolish  thing  for  me  to  listen  to  any 
more  of  such  monstrous  flattery.  Or  perhaps  you  are  satiri- 
cal and  take  this  roundabout  way  of  telling  me  that  I'm 
human  like  yourself.  I'm  going  down  to  supper,  for  I  pre- 
fer Mr.  Burleigh's  toast  to  such  doubtful  compliments." 


342  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"Miss  Jennie,  I  protest,  I  never  offered  you  a  compli- 
ment in  my  life,"  he  said,  accompanying  her. 

"In  the  name  of  the  King's  English,  what  are  compli- 
ments, then  ?" 

"Mere  verbal  sugar-plums,  sweet,  cloying,  and  often 
poisonous.  My  expressions  of  honest  opinion  are,  like  Mr. 
Burleigh's  toast  you  are  so  fond  of,  made  of  the  finest 
wheat  of  truth,  leavened  by  my  irrepressible  admiration, 
and  done  to  the  nicest  shade  of  brown  by  the  warmth  of  my 
friendly  regard. ' ' 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!     Your  compliments  are  verbal  balloons." 

"Yes,  that  figure  might  apply  to  them  also,  for  these 
opinions  of  mine — not  compliments,  mark! — often  carry  me 
up  above  the  clouds  and  vapors  of  earth." 

"Where  you  will  find  the  atmosphere  exceedingly  thin 
and  cold,  I  assure  you,"  said  Miss  Burton,  with  something 
like  seriousness  in  her  tone.  "I  must  remind  you,  Mr.  Van 
Berg,  that  even  Jack  Bunsby  did  not  give  his  opinions  till 
they  were  asked,  and  I  will  take  some  toast,  if  you  please, 
in  their  stead." 

Stanton  and  Mrs.  May  hew  now  appeared,  and  the  con- 
versation became  general,  in  which  the  former  made  rather 
futile  efforts  to  conceal  his  dejection.  His  aunt  had  told 
him  that  Ida  had  merely  said  she  had  spent  the  day  with 
a  friend,  and  that  she  would  explain  her  absence  at  the 
proper  time.  "She  has  such  a  dignified  way  of  speaking, 
that  you  are  made  to  feel  it  is  an  insult  to  ask  a  question, 
so  I  shall  just  take  her  at  her  word,  and  leave  her  to  her- 
self," concluded  the  lady. 

"She'll  never  forgive  me,"  muttered  Stanton. 

A  little  later  than  the  others,  the  object  of  his  thoughts 
came  down  to  supper.  The  deep  color  which  the  unex- 
pected episode  with  the  artist  had  caused  now  lingered  only 
as  a  faint  glow  in  her  cheeks.  She  had  fastened  a  few  pear 
leaves  in  her  hair,  and  wore  no  other  ornament.  Her  thin 
white  dress  suggested  rather  than  revealed  the  exquisite  sym- 
metry of  her  neck  and  arms,  and  Van  Berg  was  compelled 


THE    CORNERSTONE    OF    CHARACTER  343 

to  admit  to  himself  that  his  trained  and  critical  eyes  could 
scarcely  detect  a  flaw  in  her  marvellous  beauty,  or  in  the 
taste  shown  in  her  costume. 

But  there  was  something  in  her  manner  which  appealed 
to  him  more  than  her  beauty  even.  The  evening  before  she 
had  chilled  their  hearts  by  her  unnatural  and  icy  words  and 
bearing.  Now  there  was  an  expression  of  humility  and  diffi- 
dence wholly  unlike  anything  he  had  ever  seen  before.  She 
did  not  seem  inclined  to  enter  into  conversation,  and  yet 
she  was  not  repellant  and  cold,  but  rather  seemed  to  shrink 
from  notice,  and  to  indicate  that  past  memories  were  em- 
barrassing. But  she  would  not  look  at  her  cousin,  for  she 
still  felt  a  deep  resentment  toward  him.  She  was  no  saint 
because  she  had  cherished  some  good  thoughts  and  impulses 
that  day,  and  as  for  poor  Stanton,  he  became  so  depressed 
that  he  lapsed  into  utter  silence. 

Miss  Burton  was  becoming  deeply  interested  in  Ida. 
When  she  saw  her  crimson  face  as  the  artist  hastened  to 
the  phaeton,  a  sudden  light  had  flashed  into  her  eyes,  and 
the  thought  crossed  her  mind: 

''Mr.  Van  Berg  is  the  magician  who  is  unwittingly  prac- 
ticing upon  her  and  making  her  so  unlike  her  former  self," 
and  as  she  hurriedly  recalled  the  past,  she  found  there  was 
much  in  Ida's  manner  not  inconsistent  with  this  theory. 
Still  it  was  not  with  any  prying,  gossipy  interest,  that  she 
observed  closely,  in  order  to  discover  if  there  were  good 
reasons  for  her  surmise. 

But  Ida's  manner  was  so  quiet  and  guarded  it  would 
have  required  keener  eyes  than  even  Jennie  Burton's  to 
detect  the  hidden  fire. 

The  meal  promised  to  pass,  with  some  constraint,  it  is 
true,  but  without  any  embarrassing  incident,  when  Mrs. 
Mayhew  was  the  means  of  placing  poor  Ida  in  a  very  pain- 
ful dilemma.  Under  a  general  impulse  to  conciliate  her 
daughter  and  make  amends,  and  with  her  usual  want  of 
tact,  she  said  suddenly  and  sententiously:  "Well,  1  think 
Ida's  very  brave  to  be  able  to  drive  for  herself." 


344  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

There  was  a  moment  of  embarrassed  silence  after  this 
unexpected  remark,  and  then  Miss  Burton  made  matters 
far  worse  by  saying,  with  the  kindest  intention: 

"After  Miss  May  hew' s  adventure  in  the  stage  no  one  can 
doubt  her  courage,  and  I'm  sure  1  admire  a  brave  woman 
much  more  than  a  brave  man.  Men  are  brave  as  a  matter 
of  course."  Then  she  saw  from  the  sudden  scarlet  that 
flamed  up  into  Ida's  cheeks,  and  the  manner  of  the  artist, 
who  suddenly  became  wholly  absorbed  in  his  supper,  that 
she  had  made  an  unfortunate  allusion.  There  was  nothing 
to  do  but  promptly  change  the  subject,  so  she  turned  and 

asked : 

"What  is  the  greatest  number  of  miles  you  have  ever 
driven  in  a  day,  Mr.  Stanton?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  said  the  preoccupied  young  man, 
starting  at  the  sound  of  his  name. 

Miss  Burton  repeated  her  question.  But  in  the  mean- 
time it  was  evident  a  severe  conflict  was  going  on  in  Ida 
Mayhew's  mind.  How  could  she  obey  Mr.  Eltinge's  injunc- 
tion to  be  honest  and  true,  if  she  let  this  false  impression 
concerning  her  behavior  in  the  stage  remain  ?  How  could 
she  hope  to  win  a  particle  of  respect  from  Van  Berg  if  she 
received  again  this  undeserved  praise  ?  How  could  she  look 
her  kind  old  friend  in  the  face  if  she  continued  silent  ?  She 
felt  she  must  either  speak  or  take  the  pear  leaves  out  of  her 
hair.  It  was  hard,  bitter  hard  to  speak  then  and  there  be- 
fore them  all,  but  her  indecision  soon  gave  place  to  the  re- 
solve to  lay  at  once  what  Mr.  Eltinge  had  called  the  corner- 
stone of  character. 

"Miss  Burton,"  she  said  abruptly,  as  Stanton  was  trying 
to  collect  his  wits  so  as  to  make  a  suitable  reply. 

They  all  looked  at  her  involuntarily.  Her  face  was  pale 
now,  and  had  the  white,  resolute  aspect  often  seen  in  those 
about  to  face  great  danger. 

"Miss  Burton,  I  am  sorry  to  say  you  have  a  false  im- 
pression of  my  conduct  in  the  stage.  So  far  from  showing 
presence  of  mind  and  courage  on  that  occasion,  I  was  terror- 


THE    CORNERSTONE    OF   CHARACTER  345 

stricken  and,  I  believe,  hysterical.  With  all  my  faults,  I 
shall  at  least  try  to  tell  the  truth  hereafter." 

"By  Jupiter!"  cried  the  impulsive  Stanton,  ''that's  the 
pluckiest  thing  I  ever  saw  a  woman  do,  or  man  either.  Ida, 
from  this  day  I'm  proud  of  you,  though  you  have  little 
occasion  to  be  so  of  me." 

The  poor  girl  had  looked  steadily  at  Miss  Burton  while 
speaking,  but  the  moment  the  ordeal  was  over  her  lip  quiv- 
ered like  that  of  a  child,  and  she  hastily  left  the  table. 

She  had  scarcely  mounted  half  the  stairs  that  led  to  her 
room  before  Van  Berg  was  at  her  side. 

"Miss  May  hew,"  he  said  eagerly,  "1  did  not  sleep  last 
night,  nor  can  I  to-night  until  assured  of  your  forgiveness. 
Myself  I  can  never  forgive." 

Her  heart  was  full  and  her  nerves  overstrained  already. 
She  could  not  speak,  but  she  bowed  her  head  on  the  rail  of 
the  balustrade,  hiding  her  face  against  her  arm,  and  strove 
hard  to  check  the  rising  sobs. 

"Miss  Mayhew,"  he  continued,  in  low,  pleading  tones, 
"in  all  my  life  I  never  condemned  myself  so  bitterly  as  1 
have  for  my  treatment  of  you.  I  can  only  appeal  to  your 
generosity.  I  need  your  forgiveness,"  and  he  waited  for  her 
answer. 

But  she  could  not  answer.  It  seemed  as  if  she  could  not 
maintain  even  her  partial  self-control  a  moment  longer. 
Her  heart  forgave  him,  however,  and  she  wished  him  to 
know  it,  so  without  lifting  her  head  she  held  out  her  hand 
in  the  place  of  the  words  she  could  not  trust  herself  to 
utter.  He  seized  it  eagerly,  and  it  so  trembled  and  throbbed 
in  his  grasp  that  it  made  him  think  of  a  wounded  bird  that 
he  once  had  captured. 

lll  take  your  hand,  Miss  Mayhew,"  he  said  earnestly, 
"not  as  a  sign  of  truce  between  us,  but  as  a  token  of  forgive- 
ness, and  the  pledge  of  reconciliation  and  friendship.  Your 
brave  truth-telling  to-night  has  atoned  for  your  past.  Please 
give  me  a  chance  at  least  to  try  to  atone  for  mine." 

His  only  reply  was  a  faint  pressure  from  her  hand,  and 


346  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

then  she  sped  up  the  stairway.  He  did  not  see  her  again 
till  she  came  down  to  breakfast  the  following  morning,  when 
she  treated  him  with  a  quiet,  distant,  well-bred  courtesy  that 
did  not  suggest  the  sobbing  girl  who  had  fled  from  him  the 
evening  before,  much  less  the  despairing,  desperate  woman 
who  had  given  him  the  drug  with  which  she  had  intended 
to  end  her  existence.  They  who  see  conventional  surfaces 
only  know  but  little  of  life. 

Truthful  as  she  was  trying  to  be,  she  was  puzzling  him 
more  than  ever,  although  he  was  giving  a  great  deal  of 
thought  to  the  problem. 


A    "HEAVENLY    MYSTERY »  347 


CHAPTEK  XLIII 

A   " HEAVENLY    MYSTERY" 

WHILE  Ida's  manner  at  the  breakfast- table  was  quiet 
and  self-possessed,  she  still  maintained  the  same 
distant  bearing  which  had  been  characteristic  the 
evening  before.  It  was  evident  to  7 an  Berg,  however,  that 
pride,  wounded  vanity,  and  resentment  were  no  longer  the 
motives  for  the  seclusion  in  which  she  sought  to  remain, 
even  while  under  the  eyes  of  others.  It  was  the  natural 
shrinking  of  one  who  would  hide  weakness,  trouble,  and 
imperfection.  It  was  the  bearing  of  one  who  had  been 
deeply  humiliated,  and  who  was  conscious  of  a  partial 
estrangement  toward  those  having  a  knowledge  of  this 
humiliation.  Thus  far  he  could  understand  her;  and  in 
the  proportion  she  was  depressed  and  withdrew  from  social 
recognition  and  encouragement,  his  sympathy  and  respect 
were  drawn  out  toward  her. 

i4She  is  not  trivial  and  superficial,  as  I  supposed,"  he 
thought  twenty  times  that  morning.  "There  is  not  a  sud- 
den calm  after  the  storm  that  has  been  raging,  as  would  be 
the  case  were  she  in  character  like  a  shallow  pool.  Her 
manner  now  proves  daily  the  largeness  of  the  nature  that 
has  been  so  deeply  moved,  and  which,  like  the  agitated  sea, 
regains  its  peace  but  slowly;"  and  the  sagacious  Van  Berg, 
whose  imagination  was  not  under  very  good  control,  began 
to  react  into  the  other  extreme,  and  query  whether  Ida 
May  hew 's  moral  nature,  now  that  it  was  aroused,  was  not 
her  chief  characteristic. 


348  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

Meanwhile,  the  subject  of  his  many -colored  speculations 
had  driven  away  in  the  low  basket  phaeton,  having  first  ex- 
plained briefly  to  her  mother  that  she  intended  to  spend  the 
morning  again  with  the  two  old  people  she  had  visited  the 
previous  day. 

Stanton  volunteered  this  amount  of  information  to  his 
friend,  and  there  was  much  surmise  and  curiosity  in  their 
minds  in  regard  to  these  "old  people,"  and  her  motive  in 
seeking  them.  But  even  Mrs.  Mayhew  had  begun  to  real- 
ize that  they  must  take  Ida  at  her  word  and  leave  her  to 
herself. 

It  was  with  something  even  more  than  hopefulness  that 
Ida  drew  near  to  the  garden  again.  She  was  alive;  that 
fact,  in  contrast  with  what  might  have  been,  was  like  solid 
ground  beneath  her  feet.  Then,  again,  in  the  place  of  the 
cold,  distant  manner  of  the  guests,  after  the  departure  of 
Sibley,  she  had  already  noticed  friendly  glances  and  an  evi- 
dent disposition  to  make  amends.  It  also  gave  her  not  a 
little  satisfaction  that  her  cousin  and  the  artist  were  experi- 
encing such  sincere  compunctions,  and  were  realizing  the 
enormity  of  their  offence.  Ida  was  very  human,  and  al- 
ways would  be.  She  was  also  a  little  elated  over  the  fact 
that  she  had  been  able  to  tell  the  truth  the  evening  before. 
The  memory,  however,  that  nestled  most  warmly  in  her 
heart  was  the  assertion  of  Van  Berg,  "I  need  your  forgive- 
ness." "How  much  does  that  mean?"  she  asked  herself 
again  and  again.  "Does  he  really  wish  to  be  a  friend,  or  is 
he  only  trying  to  smooth  over  matters  and  calm  me  down 
so  he  can  leave  me  decorously,  as  after  our  hateful  episode 
in  the  stage  ?' ' 

Her  wishes  colored  her  thoughts.  "He  spoke  too  ear- 
nestly to  mean  so  little,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  dreamy 
smile  that  Van  Berg,  as  an  artist  merely,  would  have  given 
much  to  see. 

After  all,  perhaps  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  her  reviving 
spirits  was  in  the  fact  she  was  young.  She  could  not  take 
a  very  sombre  view  of  life  that  fresh  summer  morning,  even 


A    "HEAVENLY    MYSTERY"  349 

in  view  of  the  past  and  the  future,  and  her  manner  of  greet- 
ing Mr.  Eltinge  and  of  telling  her  experiences  since  they 
parted  suggested  to  him  that  she  was  gaining  in  self- 
complacency,  earthly  hope,  and  youthful  spirits,  rather 
than  in  the  deep  and  lasting  peace  and  moral  strength 
which  is  built  up  from  the  Living  Rock.  She  was  finding 
relief  from  depression  and  suffering  from  causes  as  transient 
as  they  were  superficial.  Chief  of  all,  she  had  not  realized 
as  he  had  supposed  the  shadow  of  the  awful  crime  that  was 
resting  upon  her,  and  the  need  of  God's  forgiveness.  Al- 
most unconsciously  the  old  man,  wise  and  experienced  in 
spiritual  life,  sighed  deeply  as  she  finished  her  story. 

Her  quick  ear  caught  the  sigh,  and  her  woman's  intu- 
ition gathered  from  his  face  that  the  outlook  did  not  seem 
so  encouraging  to  him.  Her  heart  began  to  sink,  and  she 
said  earnestly: 

"Mr.  Eltinge,  I've  tried  to  be  true;  1  want  you  to  be 
faithful  with  me.     Don't  hide  anything  from  me." 

"Yes,  my  child,"  he  replied  gravely,  "you  are  sincere 
—you  hide  nothing.  I  think  I  understand  you.  I  thank 
God  he  gave  you  strength  last  night  to  tell  the  truth  under 
very  trying  circumstances,  and  you  have  greatly  increased 
my  respect  for  you  that  you  did  so.  But,  to  use  a  little 
figurative  language,  if  I  were  your  doctor  I  might  tell  you 
that  you  don't  realize  how  sick  you  are  and  have  been. 
There  have  been  some  encouraging  symptoms  and  circum- 
stances, and  your  spirits  and  hope  are  reviving,  and  you  are 
looking  to  these  things  rather  than  to  him  who  taketh  away 
the  sin  of  the  world.  I  tried  to  encourage  you  yesterday, 
my  child,  because  1  saw  you  were  deeply  depressed;  and 
to  discourage  us  is  one  of  the  chief  aims  of  the  Evil  One. 
I  do  not  wish  to  discourage  you  to-day— far  from  it— but  I 
wish  you  to  realize  that  only  the  forgiveness  and  healing 
touch  of  the  Son  of  God  are  equal  to  your  need. 

"My  child,"  he  continued,  with  a  solemnity  that  made 
her  grow  very  pale,  "suppose  I  should  take  you  to  a  room 
in  the  house  there,  show  you  a  fair  young  girl  with  eyes 


350  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 

that  should  look  for  her  duty  in  life  closed  forever,  and  the 
hand  that  should  faithfully  and  bravely  do  it  paralyzed  in 
death.  Suppose  I  should  tell  you  that  I  had  given  her 
a  poisonous  drug  the  night  before,  what  would  I  be?" 

44  A  murderer,"  whispered  the  girl  with  eyes  dilated  with 
fear  and  horror. 

uYes,"  said  the  old  man,  shaking  his  head  sadly;  "I 
would  have  destroyed  a  life  that  God  had  given,  and  de- 
stroyed endless  chances  for  happiness  and  usefulness,  and 
sent  a  poor  soul  to  judgment,  perhaps  unforgiven  and  un- 
prepared. My  child,  it  cuts  me  to  the  heart  to  pain  you 
so,  but  the  physician's  probe  must  go  to  the  depth  of  the 
wound.  It  is  no  kindness  to  the  patient  to  put  on  a  sooth- 
ing surface  application  and  leave  death  to  rankle  in  the 
blood.  We  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  in  the  eye  of  God 
he  that  destroys  himself  is  any  the  less  guilty  than  he  that 
kills  another,  and  even  in  the  judgment  of  man  it's  a  cow- 
ardly flight  from  misfortunes  that  should  be  triumphed  over 
with  courage  and  patience,  or  endured  with  fortitude  and 
resignation.  Mark  my  words,  it  is  only  a  flight,  not  an 
escape,  for  every  evil  you  sought  to  shun  would  have  been 
intensified  and  rendered  eternal.  Now,  the  simple  truth  is, 
we  hold  our  own  lives  in  trust  from  God,  to  be  used  accord- 
ing to  his  will,  and  we  have  no  more  right  to  destroy  the 
life  he  entrusts  to  us  than  the  life  he  gives  to  others." 

Ida  had  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  was  trembling 
violently. 

44I  did  not  realize  it  before,"  she  murmured  in  a  low, 
shuddering  tone.  " Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I 
do?     Why  doesn't  the  earth  open  and  swallow  me  up?" 

The  old  man  came  to  her  side  again,  and  placing  his 
right  hand  gently  on  her  bowed  head  and  holding  a  Bible 
in  his  left,  continued  in  grave  but  very  gentle  tones: 

4 'Take  this  Book,  my  child;  it  will  tell  you  what  to  do. 
It  will  tell  you  that  merciful  and  all-powerful  arms  are  open 
to  receive  you,  and  not  a  hopeless  grave.  The  Son  of  God 
has  said  to  the  heavy  laden,  'Come  unto  me,'  and  4 whoso- 


A    "HEAVENLY    MYSTERY"  351 

ever  cometh  I  will  in  nowise  cast  out.'  Heaven  is  full,  my 
child,  of  just  such  guilty  souls  as  yours,  but  it  was  He  who 
saved  them,  it  was  His  precious  blood  that  washed  them 
whiter  than  snow.  When  you  seek  for  forgiveness  and 
healing  at  His  feet  all  will  be  well,  but  not  till  then,  and 
not  elsewhere." 

ltOh,  Mr.  Eltinge,"  she  sobbed,  "you  have  pierced  my 
heart  as  with  a  sword." 

"I  have,  indeed,  my  poor  child— with  the  sword  of  truth; 
and  what's  more,  I  can't  heal  the  wound  I've  made." 

"What  shall  I  do?  oh,  what  shall  I  do?"  and  she  fairly 
writhed  in  the  agony  of  her  remorse. 

41  'Behold  the  Lamb  of  God,  that  taketh  away  the  sin 
of  the  world,'  "  he  said  gently  but  firmly,  and  his  strong 
faith  and  the  words  of  Holy  Writ  were  like  a  rock,  at 
which,  from  out  of  the  overwhelming  torrent  of  her  re- 
morseful despair,  she  grasped  as  her  one  chance,  her  one 
hope. 

Lifting  her  streaming  eyes  to  heaven,  and  clasping  her 
hands,  she  cried  passionately: 

"O  Christ,  hope  of  the  sinful,  if  there  is  mercy  for  such 
as  I,  forgive  me,  for  my  crime  is  like  a  falling  moun- 
tain!" 

A  moment  later  she  sprang  up  and  put  her  arms  around 
the  old  man's  neck. 

"My  friend,  my  more  than  father!"  she  sobbed,  "I  think 
—1  almost  believe  God  has  heard  me.  It  seems  as  if  I  had 
escaped  from  death,  and— and— my  heart  was  breaking;  but 
now__oh,  it's  all  a  heavenly  mystery!" 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Eltinge  brokenly,  and  with  answer- 
ing emotion,  "it  is  a  heavenly  mystery.  'Not  by  might, 
nor  by  power,  but  by  my  Spirit,  saith  the  Lord.' 

Ida  could  never  forget  the  remaining  hours  which  she 
spent  that  day  in  the  old  garden.  It  was  then  and  there 
that  she  experienced  the  sensations  of  those  entering  a  new 
spiritual  life  and  a  new  world*  and  with  some  these  first  im- 
pressions are  very  vivid. 


852  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

It  was  according  to  nature  that  it  should  be  so  in  the  in- 
stance of  Ida  Mayhew,  for  she  was  simple,  positive,  and 
warm  in  her  feelings,  rather  than  cold  and  complex.  But 
she  was  sane,  and  abounded  in  the  homely  common  sense 
which  enabled  her  to  understand  herself  and  those  about 
her.  She  formed  fairly  correct  estimates  of  all  whom  she 
had  met,  and  with  the  same  simple  directness  she  began  to 
recognize  the  character  of  the  Divine  Man  that  Mr.  Eltinge 
and  the  Bible  they  read  together  presented. 

No  earthly  casuistry  could  ever  lead  her  to  doubt  that 
He  had  heard  her  prayer  that  morning.  She  might  reply 
simply  to  all  cavil  and  questioning: 

"I  know  He  heard  and  answered  me,  and  if  I  do  not 
know  this  to  be  true,  I  cannot  know  anything  to  be  true;" 
for  never  before  had  her  consciousness  made  anything  so 
distinct  and  real. 

To  say  that  she  and  multitudes  of  others  are  mistaken  is 
begging  the  whole  question.  It  is  baldly  taking  the  ground 
of  denial  of  everything  outside  of  personal  understanding 
and  knowledge.  The  scepticism  of  very  many  would  blot 
out  the  greater  part  of  science,  history,  and  geography. 
The  facts  of  Christian  experience  and  Christian  testimony 
are  as  truly  facts  as  those  which  are  discovered  by  people 
who  are  hostile  or  indifferent  to  the  Bible. 

The  broad,  liberal  man  is  he  who  accepts  all  truth  and 
humbly  waits  till  the  fuller  wisdom  of  coming  ages  recon- 
ciles what  is  now  apparently  conflicting.  The  bigot  is  he 
who  shuts  his  eyes  to  truth  he  does  not  like,  or  does  not 
understand;  and  he  is  as  apt  to  be  a  scientist  as  the  man 
who  has  learned  that  the  God  who  made  him  can  also  speak 
to  him,  through  His  inspired  word  and  all-pervading 
Spirit. 

We  are  surrounded  by  earthly  mysteries  which  the  wisest 
cannot  solve,  and  some  of  them  are  very  sad  and  dark.  Why 
should  there  not  be,  as  Ida  said,  a  heavenly  mystery  ? 

After  all,  it  is  a  question  of  fact.  The  Christ  of  the  New 
Testament  offers  to  give  peace  and  spiritual  healing.     Does 


A    "HEAVENLY   MYSTERY" 


353 


He  keep  His  word?  We  say  yes,  on  the  broad  ground  of 
human  experience  and  human  testimony -the  ground  on 
which  is  built  the  greater  part  of  human  knowledge. 

If  this  be  true,  what  a  reproach  is  contained  in  the  words 
of  our  Lord:  4l  Ye  will  not  come  unto  me  that  ye  might  have 
life!" 


354  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  XL1V 


irTHE   GARDEN   OF   EDEN"" 


M 


R.  ELTINGE,"  Ida  asked,  as  they  were  about  to 
part,  "have  I  a  right  to  the  glad  sense  of  escape 
and  safety  that  has  come  so  unexpectedly  ?" 

"Your  right,"  he  replied,  "depends  on  the  character  of 
the  Friend  you  have  found.  Do  you  think  He  is  able  and 
willing  to  keep  His  word  ?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Eltinge,  how  plain  you  make  it  all!" 

"No,  my  dear;  it  was  made  plain  centuries  ago.  You 
have  as  much  right  to  your  happy  feelings  as  to  the  sun- 
shine; but  never  put  your  feelings  in  the  place  of  Christ, 
and  trust  in  them.  That's  like  putting  faith  in  one's 
gratitude,  instead  of  the  friend  whose  services  inspired  the 
gratitude.  But  come  again  to-morrow,  and  we'll  go  on 
with  the  'old,  old  story.'  I've  read  it  scores  of  times,  but 
am  enjoying  it  now  with  you  more  than  ever.     Good- by." 

As  Ida  drew  near  to  the  hotel,  Stanton  stepped  from  the 
roadside  to  meet  her. 

"Ida,"  he  said,  "if  you  can't  forgive  me  (and  perhaps 
you  cannot),  I'll  leave  to-morrow  morning — and  perhaps  I 
had  better  anyway.  I  fear  it  was  an  evil  day  for  us  both 
when  we  came  to  this  place." 

"I've  thought  so  too,  Cousin  Ik,"  she  said  kindly;  "but 
I  don't  now.  I'm  glad  I  came  here,  though  it  has  cost  me 
a  great  deal  of  suffering  and — and — may — but  no  matter.  I 
was  better  and  worse  than  you  thought  me.  I  must  in  sin- 
cerity say  that  it  has  been  hard  to  forgive  you,  for  your  sus- 
picion wounded  me  more  deeply  than  you'll  ever  know. 


"THE    GARDEN   OF   EDEN"  355 

But  my  own  need  of  forgiveness  has  taught  me  to  forgive 
others;  and  I  now  see  that  I  also  have  been  very  disagree- 
able to  you,  Ik.    Let  us  exchange  forgiveness  and  be  friends. ' ' 

44 Ida,  what  has  come  over  you?  You  are  no  more  like 
the  girl  that  I  brought  to  the  country  than  I'm  like  the  self- 
satisfied  fool  that  accompanied  you." 

"No,  Ik,  you  are  not  a  fool,  and  never  was;  but,  like 
myself,  you  had  a  good  deal  of  self-complacency,  and  not 
much  cause  for  it.  Pardon  me  for  speaking  plainly,  but 
after  what  has  passed  between  us  we  can  afford  to  be  frank. 
You  may  not  win  Jennie  Burton,  but  I  believe  she'll  wake 
you  up,  and  make  a  strong,  genuine  man  of  you." 

"Ida,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  and  with  lips  that  quivered 
a  little,  "I'm  not  sorry  that  I  love  Jennie  Burton,  though 
in  consequence  I  may  never  see  another  happy  day.  Bat 
good- by;  I'm  too  confoundedly  blue  to-day  to  speak  to 
another  mortal.  It's  a  great  relief,  though,  that  you  have 
forgiven  me.  I  wouldn't  if  I  had  been  in  your  place,  and 
don't  think  I  forgive  myself  because  you  have  let  me  off  so 
easily;"  and  he  turned  hastily  away,  and  was  soon  lost  to 
her  view  in  the  shrubbery  by  the  roadside. 

If  Ida  had  puzzled  Van  Berg  in  the  morning,  he  was  still 
more  perplexed  in  the  evening.  Slight  traces  of  her  deep 
emotion  still  lingered  around  her  eyes,  but  in  the  eyes 
themselves  there  shone  a  light  and  hopefulness  which  he 
had  never  seen  before,  and  which  he  could  not  interpret. 
Moreover,  her  face  was  growing  so  gentle  and  womanly,  so 
free  from  the  impress  of  all  that  had  marred  it  heretofore, 
that  he  could  not  help  stealing  glances  so  often,  that  were 
Jennie  Burton  of  a  jealous  disposition  she  might  think  his 
interest  not  wholly  artistic.  Although  there  was  much  of 
the  shrinking  and  retiring  manner  of  the  morning,  and  she 
did  not  join  in  the  general  conversation,  all  traces  of  resent- 
ment and  coldness  toward  her  companions  had  vanished. 
She  was  considerate  and  even  kind  to  her  mother,  but  in 
reply  to  her  questions  concerning  the  people  she  had  vis- 
ited, said  gently  but  firmly: 


356  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

"I  will  take  you  there  some  day,  mother,  and  then  you 
can  judge  for  yourself.  " 

But  with  the  exception  of  a  promptness  to  check  all  refer- 
ence to  herself  and  the  day's  experiences,  her  manner  was 
so  different  from  what  Mrs.  Mayhew  had  been  accustomed 
to  that  she  could  not  help  turning  many  perplexed  and 
curious  glances  toward  her  daughter,  and  was  evidently  no 
better  able  to  understand  the  subtle  and  yet  real  change 
than  was  the  artist  himself. 

Miss  Burton,  with  her  keen,  delicate  perceptions,  recog- 
nized this  difference  more  fully  than  any  of  the  others;  and 
her  instinct,  rather  than  anything  she  saw  in  Ida,  enabled 
her  to  divine  the  cause  in  part.  "I  know  of  but  one  thing 
that  can  account  for  Miss  Mayhew's  behavior,"  she  thought; 
"and  though  she  guards  her  secret  well,  she  cannot  deceive 
a  woman  who  has  passed  through  my  experience.  I  begin 
to  see  it  all.  She  used  Sibley  as  a  blind,  and  she  was  blind 
herself,  poor  child,  when  she  did  so,  to  everything  save  the 
one  womanly  necessity  of  hiding  an  unsought  love.  Well, 
well,  my  outspoken  lover  has  eyes  for  her  sweet,  chastened 
beauty  to-night.  Perhaps  he  thinks  he  is  studying  her  face 
as  an  artist.  Perhaps  he  is.  But  it  strikes  me  that  he  has 
lost  the  critical  and  judicial  expression  which  I  have  noticed 
hitherto,"  and  a  glimmer  of  a  smile  that  did  not  in  the  least 
suggest  the  "green-eyed  moDster"  hovered  for  a  moment 
like  a  ray  of  light  over  Jennie  Burton's  face. 

"Mother,"  said  Ida,  in  a  low,  sympathetic  tone,  "I  see 
one  of  your  headaches  is  coming  on.  Let  me  bathe  your 
head  after  tea." 

"Ida,"  whispered  Mrs.  Mayhew,  "you  are  so  changed  I 
don't  know  you." 

The  young  girl  flushed  slightly,  and  by  a  quick,  warn- 
ing look  checked  all  further  remark  of  this  tendency. 

"She  is  indeed  marvellously  changed,"  thought  Miss 
Burton.  "I  feel  it 'even  more  than  I  can  see  it.  There 
must  be  some  other  influence  at  work.  Who  are  these 
friends  she  is  visiting,  and  who  send  her  back  to  us  daily 


"THE    GARDEN    OF   EDEN"  357 

with  some  unexpected  grace?  Yesterday  it  was  truthful- 
ness— to-day  an  indescribable  charm  of  manner  that  has 
banished  th^e  element  of  earthiness  from  her  beauty.  1 
think  I  will  join  my  friend  (who  imagines  himself  some- 
thing more)  in  the  study  of  a  problem  that  is  becoming 
intensely  interesting." 

"Miss  Mayhew,"  Van  Berg  found  a  chance  to  say  after 
supper,  "you  are  becoming  a  greater  enigma  to  me  than 
ever." 

"Well,"  she  replied,  averting  her  face  to  hide  the  color 
that  would  rise  at  his  rather  abrupt  and  pointed  address, 
"I'd  rather  be  a  Chinese  puzzle  to  you  than  what  I 
was." 

"And  I  no  doubt  have  appeared  to  you  like  a  Chinese 
Mandarin,  Grand  Turk,  Great  Mogul,  not  to  name  self-sat- 
isfied Pharisees,  and  all  of  that  ilk. ' ' 

"I  can't  say  that  you  have,  and  yet  I've  keenly  felt  your 
superiority.  I  think  the  character  you  are  now  enacting  is 
more  becoming  than  any  of  those  would  be,  however." 

"What  is  that?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"Well,"  she  said  hesitatingly,  "I  hardly  know  how  to 
describe  it,  but  it  suggests  a  little  the  kindness  which,  they 
say,  makes  all  the  world  kin.     Good-night,  Mr.  Van  Berg." 

"Miss  Jennie,"  he  said,  later  in  the  evening,  "you  have 
an  insight  into  character  which  we  grosser  mortals  do  not 
possess.  Do  you  not  think  that  there  is  a  marked  change 
taking  place  in  Miss  Mayhew  ?" 

"And  so  you  expect  me  to  read  Miss  Mayhew's  secrets 
and  gossip  about  them  with  you?"  she  answered  with  one 
of  her  piquant  smiles. 

"What  a  sweetbriar  you  are!  Now  tell  me  in  your  own 
happy  way  how  you  would  describe  this  change  which  you 
see  and  understand  far  more  clearly  than  I." 

"I'll  give  you  one  thought  that  has  occurred  to  me,  and 
then  leave  you  to  solve  the  problem  for  yourself.  Have 
you  ever  seen  a  person  who  had  been  delirious  or  deranged 
become  sane  and  quiet,    simple  and  natural  ?      Although 


858  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

Miss  Mayhew's  expression  and  manner  are  so  different 
from  what  we  have  seen  hitherto,  she  looks  and  acts  to- 
night just  as  one  instinctively  feels  she  ought  always  to 
appear  in  order  to  be  her  true  self.  Before  there  was  dis- 
cord; now  there  is  harmony." 

"If  I  had  your  eyes  I'd  never  read  books.  You  suggest 
the  effect  perfectly,  but  what  is  the  cause?" 

"Was  a  man  ever  satisfied?" 

"One  certainly  never  is  where  you  are  concerned,  but 
will  always  echo  Oliver  Twist's  plaintive  appeal  for  'more.'  " 

"Oh,  constant  moon!  register  that  vow,"  said  Miss  Bur- 
ton, laughing.  "Mr.  Van  Berg,  one  of  the  first  rules  that 
I  teach  my  young  ladies  is  to  say  good- evening  to  a  gentle- 
man when  he  grows  sentimental,"  and  she  smilingly  van- 
ished through  a  window  that  opened  on  the  piazza. 

"Jennie  Burton,"  he  muttered,  "you  are  a  wraith,  an 
exquisite  ghost  that  will  haunt  me  all  my  days,  but  on 
which  I  can  never  lay  my  hands." 

The  next  morning  the  artist,  in  his  kindling  interest,  was 
guilty  of  a  stratagem.  He  took  an  early  breakfast  by  him- 
self, under  the  pretence  that  he  was  going  on  a  sketching 
expedition;  but  he  went  straight  to  the  brow  of  a  little  hill 
that  overlooked  the  road  which  Ida  must  take  should  she 
visit  her  new-found  friends  again.  He  soon  became  very 
busy  with  his  sketch-book,  but  instead  of  the  outlines  of 
the  landscape  before  him  taking  shapes  on  the  paper,  you 
might  have  seen  the  form  of  a  young  girl  on  a  stairway 
with  her  head  bowed  on  her  right  arm  that  rested  on  the 
baluster  rail,  while  she  timidly  held  out  her  left  hand  in 
the  place  of  words  she  could  not  speak. 

It  was  with  a  foreboding  sigh  that  Ida  realized  how  much 
she  missed  him  at  breakfast. 

Before  the  meal  was  over  a  letter  was  handed  to  Mrs. 
May  hew.  It  contained  only  these  words  from  her  husband: 
"In  memory  of  my  last  visit  I  conclude  it  will  be  mutually 
agreeable  to  us  all  that  I  spend  Sunday  elsewhere.  You 
need  not  dread  my  coming." 


"THE    GARDEN   OF   EDEN'1  359 

She  handed  the  letter  to  her  daughter  with  a  frown  and 
the  remark:  "It's  just  like  him." 

But  Ida  seemed  much  pained  by  its  contents,  and  after 
a  moment  sprang  up,  saying:  "Cousin  Ik,  may  I  speak 
with  you  ?" 

When  they  were  alone  she  continued:  "See  what  father 
has  written.  He  must  come  to-night  or  I'll  go  to  him.  Can't 
I  send  him  a  telegram  ?" 

"Yes,  Coz,  and  I'll  take  it  over  to  the  depot  at  once." 

"Ah,  Ik,  you  are  doing  me  a  greater  kindness  than  you 
know.     But  it's  a  long  drive." 

"The  longer  the  better.     Will  you  go  with  me?" 

"I  would  had  I  not  promised  my  old  friends  I  visited 
yesterday  I'd  come  again  to-day.  They  are  doing  me  good. 
I'll  tell  you  about  it  some  time,"  and  she  wrote  the  follow- 
ing telegram  to  her  father:  "Come  to  Lake  House  to-day. 
Very  important." 

"I  wish  Miss  Burton  would  go  with  you,"  she  said, 
looking  up  as  the  thought  occurred  to  her.  "Shall  I  ask 
her?" 

Stanton's  wistful  face  proved  how  greatly  he  would  enjoy 
such  an  arrangement,  but  after  a  moment  he  said  decisively: 
"No.     It  would  pain  her  to  decline,  but  she  would." 

"You  are  very  considerate  of  her." 

"She  is  sorry  for  me,  Ida.  I  can  see  that.  She  has 
never  exulted  a  moment  in  her  power  over  me.  My  love 
is  only  another  burden  to  her  sad  life.  I  can't  help  it,  but 
I  can  make  it  as  light  as  possible." 

Tears  came  into  Ida's  eyes,  and  she  faltered:  tlIk,  I  un- 
derstand you." 

A  little  later  they  both  drove  off  their  different  ways. 

In  spite  of  everything,  Ida  found  that  her  heart  would 
grow  light  and  glad  as  she  pursued  her  way  along  the  quiet 
country  road,  now  in  the  shade  where  the  trees  crowded  up 
on  the  eastern  side,  and  again  in  the  sunlight  between  wide 
stubble  fields  in  which  the  quails  were  whistling  mellowly 
to  each  other. 


360  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

Van  Berg  watched  her  coming  with  a  heart  that  beat  a 
little  quickly  for  so  cool  and  philosophical  an  investigator, 
and  was  glad  that  her  quiet  old  horse  resumed  a  slow  walk 
at  the  first  suggestion  of  the  hill  on  which  he  had  posted 

himself. 

Ida  leaned  back  in  the  phaeton  with  the  abandon  of  those 
who  think  themselves  alone,  and  sang  a  snatch  from  an  old 
English  hymn  that  Van  Berg  remembered  as  one  his  mother 
had  crooned  over  him  when  a  child.  This  melody,  doubly 
sacred  to  him  from  its  associations,  would  have  grated 
harshly  on  his  ear  if  it  had  been  sung  by  Ida  Mayhew  a 
week  before;  but,  strange  to  say,  the  girlish  voice  that 
floated  up  to  him  was  all  the  sweeter  for  thus  blending 
itself  with  some  of  his  dearest  memories. 

When  the  ascent  was  half  made  the  artist  sprang  down 
from  his  rocky  perch,  and  horse  and  maiden  were  so  startled 
that  they  both  stopped  instantly. 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,"  said  Van  Berg,  laughing;  "I'm 
not  a  very  vicious  tramp,  and  am  armed  with  nothing  worse 
than  a  sketch-book.  If  I  could  only  induce  you  to  be  an 
hour  in  coming  up  this  hill  I'd  put  you  and  the  phaeton  in 
it.  I  wish  it  were  possible  to  put  the  song  in,  too.  Why, 
Miss  Mayhew!     Am  I  an  ogre,  that  I  frighten  you  so  ?" 

"I  was  not  expecting  to  see  you,"  she  faltered,  deeply 
vexed  that  her  cheeks  would  crimson  and  her  hand  that 
held  the  reins  tremble  so  plainly.  "You  naturally  think  I 
have  a  very  guilty  conscience  to  be  so  frightened,"  she 
added  after  a  second,  and  regaining  a  little  self-control. 

"That  quaint  old  hymn  tune  did  not  suggest  a  guilty 
conscience,"  he  said  kindly. 

"I  think  I  must  have  heard  it  at  church,"  she  replied. 
"It's  been  running  in  my  head  all  the  morning."  (He  now 
remembered  with  sudden  pity  that  no  memories  of  sacred 
words  and  song  could  follow  her  from  her  home  and 
childhood.)  "But  I  suppose  you  think  it  strange  I 
can  sing  at  all,  Mr.  Van  Berg,"  she  continued  gravely. 
"You    must    think   me    very    superficial    that    I    do  not 


"THE    GARDEN    OF    EDEN"  361 

appear  to  realize  more  a  crime  that  makes  it  exceed- 
ingly kind  of  you  even  to  speak  to  me,  since  you  know- 
about  it  But  I  have  realized  the  wickedness  of  that  act 
more  bitterly  than  you  can  ever  know." 

"Miss  May  hew,  I  admit  that  I  can't  understand  you  at 
all.  You  have  become  a  greater  mystery  to  me  than  ever. 
You  see,  I  imitate  your  truthfulness." 

"There  is  no  necessity  of  solving  the  problem,"  she  said 
in  a  low  tone,  and  averting  her  face. 

"Do  you  mean,"  he  asked,  flushing  slightly,  "that  my 
interest  is  obtrusive  and  not  agreeable  to  you?" 

"If  inspired  by  curiosity — yes,"  and  she  looked  him 
steadily  in  the  face. 

"But  if  inspired  by  a  genuine  and  earnest  wish  to  be 
your  friend  and  to  atone  for  the  unpardonable  injustice 
which  came  about  from  my  not  understanding  you?" 

"If  I  believed  that,"  she  said,  with  something  like  a 
smile,  "I'd  take  ycu  with  me  this  morning  and  reveal  all 
the  mystery  there  is  about  my  poor  little  self  in  one  brief 
hour." 

"How  can  I  prov3  it?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"Say  it,"  she  answered  simply. 

"I  do  say  it's  true,  on  my  honor,"  he  replied,  giving  her 
his  hand. 

"You  may  come,  then,  on  one  other  condition.  I  would 
like  you  to  draw  for  me  a  young  pear-tree,  and  an  old 
gentleman  sitting  under  it." 

"I  will  agree  to  any  conditions,"  he  said,  springing  in 
by  her  side.  "Is  it  the  tree  that  bore  the  pear  you  gave 
me?  I  hope  you  don't  think  I  was  capable  of  eating  that 
pear." 

"Did  you  throw  it  away  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  shy  glance. 

"Miss  May  hew,  I've  something  I  wish  you  to  see,"  and 
he  took  out  his  note- book  and  showed  her  the  rosebud  he 
had  tossed  away.     "Do  you  recognize  that?" 

In  spite  of  herself  the  blood  rushed  tumultuously  into 
her  lace. 

16— Roe— XII 


362  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

44I  thought  that  was  trampled  into  dust  long  ago,"  she 
said  in  a  low  tone. 

44 1  shall  never  forget  your  words  as  you  left  me  that 
evening,  Miss  Mayhew.  It  was  the  severest  and  most  de- 
served rebuke  I  ever  had.  I  picked  up  the  bud  imme- 
diately, I  assure  you." 

44I  thought  you  left  it  there,"  she  said,  in  a  still  lower 
tone,  and  then  added  hastily:  44But  I  have  no  doubt  you 
acted  from  a  sense  of  dutv." 

4lI  can't  say  that  I  did,"  he  answered,  dryly. 

41  Will  you  please  give  it  to  me  ?" 

44 Not  unless  you  compel  me  to,"  and  he  closed  the  book 
and  returned  it  to  an  inside  breast-pocket.  44I  would  like 
to  carry  it  as  a  talisman  against  Phariseeism,  the  most  hate- 
ful of  vices." 

14 Oh,  very  well,"  and  she  turned  away  her  face  again. 

44 But  please  tell  me  about  this  pear-tree,"  he  resumed. 

44 It  won't  seem  to  you  as  it  did  to  me,"  she  replied,  with 
an  embarrassed  air,  41and  I'm  sorry  I  spoke  of  it,  but  now 
that  I  have  I  may  as  well  go  on.  Besides,  I  do  wish  a  pic* 
ture  of  it  very  much.  To  explain,  I  must  go  back  a  little. 
Mr.  Van  Berg,  I'm  taking  you  to  see  the  old  gentleman  who 
saved  me  from— from — "    Her  face  was  pale  enough  now. 

44 My  dear  Miss  Mayhew,  don't  pain  yourself  by  referring 
to  that." 

44I  must,"  she  said  slowly.  44By  some  strange  fate  you 
have  seen  me  at  my  worst,  and  since  you  say  yon  care, 
you  shall  know  all  the  rest.  It  may  relieve  your  mind  of 
a  fear  that  I've  seen  in  your  face  since.  I  don't  think  I'll 
ever  be  so  wicked  and  desperate  again,  and  I  wish  you  to 
know  my  reasons  for  thinking  so.  Well,  on  that  dreadful 
night  the  party  I  was  with  went  into  a  prayer-meeting,  more 
by  the  way  of  a  frolic  than  anything  else.  I  did  not  wish 
to  go  in,  but,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you,  I  was  afraid  to 
walk  home,  and  so  had  to  follow  my  company.  Good  old 
Mr.  Eltinge  spoke  to  us.  He  said  he  knew  from  his  own 
long  experience  that  there  was  a  Divine  Friend  who  was 


"THE    GARDEN   OF   EDEN"  363 

able  and  willing  to  cure  every  earthly  trouble,  and  he  spoke 
so  simply  and  kindly  that  he  caught  my  attention  and  re- 
vived my  hope.  I  felt  when  I  entered  that  place  I  hadn't 
a  friend  in  the  world  or  out  of  it.  I  was  just  blind  and 
desperate  with  shame  and  discouragement,  and— and— but 
perhaps  you  have  read  the  letter  I  gave  you  ?' ' 

"Miss  May  hew,  every  word  of  it  is  burned  into  my 
memory.  I  scarcely  moved  after  reading  it  till  the  morning 
dawned,  and  then  I  went  out  and  walked  for  hours  before 
I  could  compose  myself  and  dared  to  meet  any  one.  As  I 
told  you  then,  so  I  say  again,  I  had  a  greater  escape  than 
you  had." 

"I'm  very,  very  sorry,"  she  replied,  in  a  tone  of  deep 
regret. 

"I  too  am  very,  very  sorry,  but  it  is  for  you." 
She  looked  up  quickly,  and  saw  that  his  eyes  were  full 
of  tears. 

"I'm  not  ashamed  of  them  in  this  instance,  Miss  May- 
hew,"  he  said,  dashing  them  away. 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  and  then  murmured: 
"Oh,  thank  God  it  has  all  turned  out  as  it  has."  After 
a  moment  she  added:  "I've  misjudged  you  also,  Mr.  Van 
Berg." 

"How?  Please  tell  me,  for  1  feel  I  have  more  cause  to 
be  disgusted  with  myself  than  you  ever  had." 

"Well— how  shall  I  say  what  I  mean?  I  thought  you 
had  more  mind  than  heart." 

"It  appears  to  me  I've  displayed  a  lamentable  lack  of 
both.  I  must  have  seemed  to  you  like  an  animated  inter- 
rogation point." 

"I  soon  learned  you  were  very  greatly  my  superior," 
she  said  simply. 

"Miss  May  hew,  spare  me,"  he  replied  quickly,  with  a 
deprecatory  gesture.  "The  story  you  were  telling  interests 
me  more  deeply  than  you  will  believe,  and  I  think  we  shall 
be  better  acquainted  before  the  day  is  over." 

'Well,   the  rest  of  my  story  is  more  easily  told  than 


$64  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

understood,  and  perhaps  your  man's  reason  may  not  find 
it  very  satisfactory.  You  know  the  old  superstition  that 
the  sign  of  the  cross  puts  to  flight  the  Evil  One.  I  don't 
believe  that,  but  I  believe  that  the  One  who  suffered  on  the 
cross  puts  him  to  flight.  Mr.  Eltinge's  simple,  downright 
assertion  that  Jesus  could  remedy  every  earthly  trouble — ■ 
that  he  would  be  a  patient,  helpful  Friend — broke  the  evil 
spell  by  which  despair  had  blinded  me,  and  I  resolved  to 
try  and  live  if  I  could.  After  the  old  gentleman  came  out 
of  the  church  I  asked  him  to  let  me  visit  him,  and  he  has 
been  very,  very  kind.  I  told  him  everything.  The  first 
day  he  saw  I  was  greatly  discouraged,  and  told  me  the  his- 
tory of  a  young  pear-tree  against  which  he  was  leaning,  and 
which  was  full  of  beautiful  fruit.  He  said  that  on  a  stormy 
night  it  was  broken  by  the  wind,  and  trampled  upon  by 
some  stray  cattle,  and  he  scarcely  thought  it  coald  live,  for 
it  was  prostrate  on  the  ground,  but  he  lifted  it,  and  took 
care  of  it,  and  gave  nature  a  chance  to  restore  it.  You 
would  think  nature  was  like  a  kind  mother,  to  hear  him 
talk.  Then  he  reasoned  that  Jesus,  the  Author  of  nature, 
would  do  for  me  what  nature  had  done  for  the  wounded 
tree,  but  that  I  must  not  expect  too  much  at  first — that  I 
must  be  receptive  and  willing  to  grow  patiently,  as  the  tree 
had  done,  in  a  new  and  better  life.  Thus  the  tree  has  be- 
come to  me  an  emblem  of  hope,  and  I  trust  a  prophecy 
of  my  future,  although  I  do  not  expect  ever  to  reach  any- 
thing like  the  perfection  suggested  by  the  pear-tree  and  its 
delicious  fruit.  The  facts  that  have  impressed  me  most  are 
that  it  was  bruised,  prostrate,  and  ready  to  die,  and  now 
it  is  alive  and  useful.  Old  Mr.  Eltinge  loves  it,  and  likes 
to  lean  against  it,  as  you  will  see. ' ' 

"The  fact  that  has  impressed  me  most  in  this  allegory," 
groaned  Van  Berg,  "is  that  1  was  the  brute  that  trampled 
on  you." 

44 You  are  too  severe  on  yourself,"  she  said  earnestly. 
"I  shall  have  to  take  your  part." 

4 'Please  do.     I  throw  myself  wholly  on  your  mercy." 


"THE    GARDEN   OF   EDEN" 


365 


"I  believe  Shakespeare  was  right,"  she  said,  with  a  shy 
laugh  and  averted  face.     "Mercy  is  always  twice  bless' d. 
But  I  have  not  told  you  all,  Mr.  Van  Berg.     Yesterday  was 
the  most  memorable  day  of  my  life.     On  Thursday  Mr. 
Eltinge  saw  I   needed  encouragement;    yesterday  he  saw 
that  I  had  not  realized  the  crime  I  had  almost  committed, 
and  that  I  was  stopping  short  of  Him  who  alone  could  change 
mv  whole  nature.     Indeed,  I  think  he  saw  that  I  was  even 
inclined  to  become  well  pleased  with  myself,  and  content 
with  mv  prospects  of  winning  back  the  esteem  of  others. 
He  was  faithful  with  me  as  well  as  kind.     By  an  illustra- 
tion  which  you  will  pardon  me  for  not  repeating,  he  made 
it  clear  to  me  as  the  light  that  in  the  intent  of  my  heart  I 
had  been  guilty  of  murder.     Mr.  Van  Berg,  may  you  never 
know  the  agony  and  remorse  that  I  suffered  for  the  few  mo- 
ments I  saw  my  sin  somewhat  as  it  must  appear  to  God,  and 
to  good  men  like  Mr.   Eltinge.      I  was  overwhelmed.      It 
seemed  as  if  my  crime  would  crush  me.     I  don't  think  I 
could  have  lived  if  the  sense  of  terror  and  despair  had 
lasted.     But  dear  old  Mr.  Eltinge  stood  by  me  in  that  ter- 
rible moment.     He  put  his  hand  on  my  head  as  a  father 
might  have  done,  and  in  tones  that  seemed  like  a  voice 
from  heaven  said:  'Behold  the  Lamb  of  God,  that  taketh 
away  the  sin  of  the  world.'     I  felt  that  I  could  not  bear  my 
sin  an  instant  longer;  it  was  like  a  mountain  of  lead,  and 
with  a  desperate  impulse  to  escape,  I  looked  to  Chris t-1 
just  £ed  to  Him,  as  it  were,  and  it  was  the  same  as  if  tie 
had  opened  His  arms  and  received  me.     From  that  moment 
I  have  felt  safe,  and  almost  happy.     I  can't  explain  all  this 
to  you;  I  only  tell  you  what  happened.     It  don't  seem  like 
superstition   or  excited   imagination,   as   I've   heard   some 
characterize   these  things.     It  was  all  too  real.    Mr.  Van 
Berg,  the   simple   truth   is-I've   found   a   Friend,  who  is 
pledged  to  take  care  of  me.     /  know  it.     I  am  reading  the 
story  of  His  life,  under  Mr.  Eltinge' s  guidance,  and  that  is 
why  I  come  here.     Now  you  know  all  the  mystery  there 
is  about  the  faulty  girl  in  whom  circumstances  have  given 


366  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

you  a  passing  interest.  Since  you  knew  so  much  that  was 
against  me,  perhaps  you  will  not  think  it  strange  that  I 
was  willing  you  should  learn  what  is  now  in  my  favor.  It 
is  simply  this — I've  found  a  Divine  Friend  who  will  help 
me  live  a  better  life." 

They  had  now  reached  Mr.  Eltinge's  gate,  and  Van  Berg 
stepped  out  to  open  it.  But  before  doing  so,  he  turned 
to  his  companion,  and  with  eyes  moist  with  feeling,  said, 
earnestly : 

"Miss  Mayhew,  circumstances  might  have  given  me  but 
a  passing  interest  in  you,  but  you  have  won  an  abiding  inter- 
est. You  have  been  generous  enough  to  forgive  me,  and 
now  you  will  have  to  repel  me  resolutely,  to  prevent  my 
being  your  friend.  Indeed  I  shall  be  one  in  heart  hereafter, 
even  though  you  may  not  permit  me  to  enjoy  your  society, 
for  you  may  very  naturally  wish  to  shun  one  who  cannot 
fail  to  remind  you  of  so  much  that  is  painful.  As  for  your 
story,  it  is  a  revelation  to  me.  I  may  never  possess  your 
happy  faith,  but  I  will  respect  it;"  and,  although  he  turned 
hastily  away,  she  could  not  fail  to  see  that  he  was  deeply 
moved. 

Mr.  Eltinge  received  the  young  man  with  some  surprise, 
and  did  not  seem  to  regard  his  presence  as  altogether  wel- 
come. The  artist  thought  to  disarm  the  old  gentleman  by 
a  decided  manifestation  of  frankness  and  courtesy: 

"I  feel  that  in  a  certain  sense  I  am  an  intruder  in  your 
beautiful  garden  to-day.  Miss  Mayhew  met  me  on  the  road, 
and  I  fear  I  must  own  that  I  had  the  bad  grace  almost  the 
same  as  to  invite  myself  hither.  At  least  she  saw  that 
I  was  exceedingly  anxious  to  come." 

14  Do  you  know  Miss  Mayhew's  motive  in  coming  hither  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Eltinge,  gravely. 

"I  do,  and  I  respect  it." 

14  You  take  safe  ground  there,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Eltinge,  with 
increasing  dignity.  4 '  Christianity  is  at  least  respectable.  But 
do  you  believe  it  to  be  absolutely  true  and  binding  on  the 
conscience?" 


"THE   GARDEN    OF  EDEN" 


367 


The  artist  was  silent. 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,"   resumed  the  old  gentleman,  with  a 
gravity  that  tended  even  toward  sternness,  "I  would  not 
fail  in  any  act  of  courtesy  toward  you,  especially  here  at 
my  own  home;  but  justice,  mercy,  and  truth  are  above  all 
other  considerations.     Both  you  and  I  know  this  child  s 
history  sufficiently  well  to  be  aware  that  it  is  a  dangerous 
thin.,  to  exert  an   influence   at   random  on  human   lives. 
You°say  you  know  her  motive  in  coming  bitber.     Let  me 
state  the  truth  very  plainly:  she  has  turned  her  face  heaven- 
ward-  she  is  taking  her  first  uncertain  steps  as  a  pilgrim 
toward  the  better  home.     In  justice  to  you  and  in  mercy 
to  you  both  let  me  quote  the  words  of  Him  before  whom 
we  all  shall  stand;"  and  placing  his  hand  on  Ida's  shoulder 
he  repeated  with  the  aspect  of  one  of  God's  anc.ent  prophets 
those  solemn  words  that  too  many  dare  to  ignore:       Whoso 
shall  offend  one  of  these  little  ones  which  believe  in  me   it 
were  better  for  him  that  a  millstone  were  hanged  about  his 
neck  and  that  he  were  drowned  in  the  depth  of  the  sea. 
Mr    Van   Berg,   in  memory  of  the  past,    beware  lest  con- 
sciously or  even  unconsciously,  through  your  indifference 
to  her  faith,  you  lay  a  straw  in  this  child's  way      The  weak 
and  the  helpless  are  very  near  to  the  heart  of  God,  and  the 
most  dangerous  act  a  man  ever  commits  is  when  he  causes 
one  of  these  little  ones  to  offend." 

Ida  trembled  beneath  her  friend's  hand  and  wished  she 
had  not  permitted  the  artist  to  come,  but  the  young  man  s 
sincerity  and  good-breeding  enabled  him  to  pass  the  ordeal. 
Removing  his  hat,  he  replied  to  Mr.  Eltinge  with  a  fine 
blending  of  dignity  and  humility:  .  .  ,£  ,         t    t, 

"I  honor  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "for  your  faithfulness  to  the 
one  who  has  come  to  you  for  counsel  and  in  a  certain  sense 
for  protection;  and  I  condemn  myself  with  a  bitterness  that 
you  will  never  understand,  that  I  wronged  her  in  my 
thoughts  and  wounded  her  by  my  manner.  I  am  eager 
to  make  any  and  every  atonement  in  my  power.  No  Ian- 
guage  can  express  my  gladness  that  she  heard  and  heeded 


368  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

your  words.  Pardon  me,  sir,  when  I  say  I  am  not  indiffer- 
ent to  her  faith.  It  is,  indeed,  a  mystery  to  me,  but  a  noble 
mystery  which  I  revere  from  the  fruits  that  I  have  already 
witnessed.  In  my  unpardonable  stupidity  and  prejudice — 
in  a  Pharisaic  pride— I  have  caused  Miss  May  hew  to  offend. 
She  has  generously  forgiven  me.  Myself  I  shall  never  for- 
give. If  she  will  honor  me  with  her  friendship  hereafter, 
I  pledge  you  my  word  that  no  act  of  mine,  so  far  as  I  can 
help  it,  shall  ever  cause  you  anxiety  for  one  in  whom  you 
have  so  strong  and  natural  an  interest." 

Mr.  Eltinge's  manner  changed  decidedly,  and  when  Van 
Berg  concluded  he  extended  his  hand  and  said  cordially: 

"After  such  manly,  straightforward  words  I  can  give 
you  the  right  hand  of  respect  and  confidence,  if  not  of  fel- 
lowship. To  tell  you  the  truth,  sir,  I  was  inclined  to  believe 
that  my  little  friend  here  had  a  better  opinion  of  you  than 
you  deserved,  but  now  I  can  welcome  you  instead  of  scold- 
ing her  for  bringing  you." 

At  the  reference  to  herself  Ida,  seemingly,  had  an  im- 
pulse to  pluck  a  flower  that  was  blooming  at  a  little  dis- 
tance. The  moment  he  was  unobserved  Van  Berg  seized 
the  old  gentleman's  hand  and  said,  earnestly,  while  tears 
sprang  to  his  eyes: 

"God  bless  you  for  the  words  you  spoke  to  that  poor 
child.  I  owe  you  more  than  she  does.  You  have  saved 
me  from  a  life  that  I  would  dread  more  than  death,"  and 
then  he,  too,  turned  away  hastily  and  pretended  to  be  very 
busy  in  finding  the  materials  for  his  sketch. 

Ida  returned  shyly,  and  it  would  seem  that  some  of  the 
color  of  her  flower  had  found  its  way  into  her  cheeks. 

"Mr.  Eltinge,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "I  don't  believe 
l  can  make  you  understand  how  much  I  would  like  a  pic- 
ture of  this  pear-tree  and  yourself  sitting  under  it  as  I  have 
seen  you  for  the  past  two  days.  I  must  admit  that  the  wish 
to  have  such  a  sketch  was  one  of  the  motives  that  led  me  to 
bring  Mr.  Van  Berg."  Then  she  added,  with  deepening 
color  still,  "my  conscience  troubles  me  when  I  hear  Mr. 


"THE   GARDEN   OF   EDEN"  369 

Van  Berg  condemn  himself  so  harshly.  I  have  learned 
that  I  misjudged  him  as  truly  as  he  did  me,  and  I  have 
since  realized  how  sadly  both  facts  and  appearances  were 
against  me." 

"Well,  Miss  Ida,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  musingly, 
14 1  am  inclined  to  think  there  has  been  more  of  misunder- 
standing than  of  intentional  and  deliberate  harshness.  My 
]cmg  life  has  taught  me  that  it  is  astonishing  how  blind  we 
often  are  to  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  others.  But  I 
warn  everybody  to  be  careful  how  they  visit  this  old  gar- 
den, for  it's  a  wonderful  place  for  bringing  out  the  truth. 
Nature  is  in  the  ascendant  here,"  and  he  looked  keenly  and 
humorously  at  the  artist,  who  remained,'  however,  uncon 
scious  of  his  scrutiny,  for  his  eyes  were  following  Ida.  She 
had  suddenly  turned  her  back  upon  them  both  again,  and 
was  soon  bending  over  the  little  brook  whose  murmur  he 
faintly  heard. 

"These  allusions  to  the  past  are  all  painful  to  her,"  he 
thought,  M  and  she  refers  to  them  only  because,  as  she  says, 
her  conscience  compels  her  to.  It  must  be  my  task  to  make 
her  forget  the  past  in  the  present  and  future." 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,"  she  said,  returning,  "you  have  visited 
the  Jordan,  I  believe,  but  I  doubt  whether  its  waters  did  you 
more  good  than  that  little  brook  over  there  does  me.  That's 
right,"  she  added,  looking  over  his  shoulder  at  the  outlines 
he  was  rapidly  tracing;  "I'm  glad  you  are  losing  no  time." 

"I  remember  the  condition  on  which  you  allowed  me  to 
come,"  he  replied,  looking  up  with  a  smile  into  her  face, 
"and  I've  already  learned,  as  Mr.  Eltinge  suggests,  that 
nothing  will  do  in  this  garden  but  downright  honesty." 
Something  in  her  face  caused  his  eyes  to  linger,  and  he 
added  hastily:  "You're  right  about  the  Jordan.  The  brook 
seems  much  more  potent,  for  apparently  it  has  washed  your 
trouble  all  away,  but  has  left — well,  you  might  think  it  flat- 
tery if  I  should  tell  you  all  I  see.  This  garden  seems  to 
contain  the  elixir  of  life  for  you,  Miss  Ida.  My  heart  was 
aching  to  see  how  pale  you  were  becoming,  but  here—" 


370  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,"  said  Ida,  abruptly,  "will  you  pardon 
a  suggestion  ?" 

He  looked   up   at  her  again  a  little  wonderingly  and 

bowed. 

"There  has  been  a  sort  of  necessity,1'  she  resumed,  "that 
my  faulty  self  should  be  the  theme  of  our  conversation 
to-day,  but  all  the  mystery  in  which  you  imagined  me  en- 
veloped must  have  vanished  since  you  came  here.  I  now 
must  ask  that  we  dwell  hereafter  on  more  agreeable  subjects 
than  Ida  May  hew/' 

"I  must  bring  this  tendency  to  personal  allusions  to  an 
end  at  once,"  she  thought,  "or  else  I  shall  betray  myself 
to  my  bitter  mortification." 

He  looked  up  with  a  deprecating  smile.  "I  am  at  your 
mercy,"  he  replied,  "and  as  I  said  before  I  will  submit  to 
any  conditions." 

"This  is  an  easy  one,"  said  Ida,  with  emphasis,  and  then 
she  took  up  the  Bible  and  began  reading  to  Mr.  Eltinge, 
who  from  his  seat  under  the  pear-tree  had  been  watching 
them  with  a  pleased  and  placid  interest  on  his  serene  old 
face.  Their  young  life  appeared  beautiful  now,  and  full  of 
hope  and  promise,  but  he  did  not  envy  it.  The  prospect 
before  him  was  better  than  the  best  that  earth  could  offer. 

Van  Berg  never  forgot  the  hour  that  followed.  His  pen- 
cil was  busy,  but  his  thoughts  were  busier.  He  felt  his  ar- 
tist life  and  power  kindling  within  him  in  a  way  that  was 
exhilarating  and  grand.  While  his  themes  were  simple,  he 
felt  that  they  were  noble  and  beautiful  in  the  highest  degree. 
The  tree— a  pretty  object  in  itself— had  been  endowed  with 
a  human  interest  and  suggested  a  divine  philosophy.  Mr. 
Eltinge,  who  sat  at  its  foot,  became  to  him  one  of  the  world's 
chief  heroes— a  man  who  had  met  and  vanquished  evil  for 
almost  a  century.  His  white  hair  and  silver  beard  were  a 
halo  of  glory  around  the  quiet  face  that  was  turned  in  kindly 
sympathy  toward  his  companion,  and  Van  Berg  did  his  best 
to  bring  out  the  noble  profile. 

But  the  maiden  herself— why  did  his  eyes  turn  so  often 


14  THE    GARDEN   OF   EDEN"  371 

to  her,  and  why  did  he,  unasked,  introduce  her  into  the 
sketch  with  a  care  and  lingering  delicacy  of  touch  that 
made  even  her  pencilled  image  seem  a  living  girl?  When 
not  affected  or  rendered  conventional  by  society,  her  voice 
was  singularly  girlish  and  natural,  and  there  would  often 
be  a  tone  in  a  plaintive  and  minor  key  that  vibrated  like  a 
low,  sweet  chord  in  his  heart  rather  than  in  his  ears.  It 
must  be  admitted  that  he  gave  little  heed  to  the  sacred 
words  she  read;  but  the  flexible  music  of  her  voice,  mingled 
with  the  murmur  of  the  brook,  the  rustle  of  the  leaves  and 
the  occasional  song  of  a  bird,  all  combined  to  form  the  sweet- 
est symphony  he  had  ever  heard. 

As  an  artist  he  exulted.  His  hand  had  not  lost  its  cun- 
ning, and  his  ruling  passion,  which  the  strange  experiences 
of  the  past  few  weeks  had  held  in  abeyance,  was  reasserting 
itself  with  a  fuller,  richer  power  than  he  had  known  before. 
That  was  Ida  Mayhew's  face  that  was  growing  beautiful  and 
full  of  her  new  and  better  life  under  his  appreciative  and 
skilful  touch,  and  the  consciousness  of  success  in  the  kind 
of  effort  in  which  success  meant  to  him  so  much  filled  him 
with  a  strong  enthusiasm. 

Once  or  twice  Ida  glanced  shyly  at  him,  and  his  appear- 
ance did  not  tend  to  fix  her  thoughts  wholly  on  the  sacred 

text. 

At  last  Mr.  Eltinge  said:  "That  will  do  for  to-day.  I 
think,  under  the  circumstances,  you  have  given  most  praise- 
worthy attention  to  what  you  have  read,  and  to  what  little 
I  couid  say  in  the  way  of  explanation.  Now  for  the  pic- 
ture, and  I  confess  I'm  as  eager  as  a  child  to  see  it;"  and 
they  came  and  looked  over  Van  Berg's  shoulder. 

Almost  instantly  Ida  clapped  her  hands,  exclaiming  with 
delight:  "The  tree  is  perfect,  and  oh,  Mr.  Eltinge,  I  shall 
always  have  you  now,  with  your  dear  kind  face  turned  to- 
ward me  as  I  have  seen  it  to-day!"  Suddenly  her  manner 
changed,  and  in  a  tone  full  of  disappointment  she  added, 
"Oh,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  how  could  you  spoil  my  picture? 
You  have  put  me  in  it." 


372  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

"Certainly,"  he  replied  demurely,  "you  were  a  part  of 
the  picture." 

"Not  a  necessary  part.  I  did  not  ask  you  to  do  that," 
she  answered,  in  a  way  that  proved  her  feelings  were  hurt. 

"I  am  willing  to  do  more  than  you  ask,  and  if  you  insist 
on  it  I  will  efface  your  image,  although  I  should  much  re- 
gret to  do  so. ' ' 

"I  protest  against  that,"  cried  Mr.  Eltinge.  "So  far 
from  spoiling  the  picture,  your  being  there  makes  it  invalu- 
able to  me.  I'm  going  to  tax  Mr.  Van  Berg's  generosity, 
and  ask  for  this  in  the  hope  that  he  will  make  another 
drawing  of  the  old  man  and  the  tree  only,  for  you." 

"Would  you  like  to  have  it  so  very  much?"  said  Ida, 
much  pleased  with  this  arrangement. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  very  much  indeed,  and  I'll  place  it  near 
my  favorite  chimney  corner,  where  I  can  see  you  all  win- 
ter. Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  congratulate  you;  I'm  not  much  of  a 
judge  of  art,  but  this  is  my  little  friend  here,  true  to  life. 
You  have  been  very  happy  in  catching  the  expression 
which  I  am  learning  to  know  so  well." 

"Your  words  have  a  fuller  meaning  than  you  think," 
replied  the  artist,  heartily.  "I  have  indeed  been  very 
happy  in  my  work.  I  never  enjoyed  a  morning  more  in 
my  life." 

"But  I'm  to  go  home  without  any  picture,"  said  Ida, 
trying    to    hide    her    pleasure    by    assumed    reproachful- 

ness. 

"There  is  no  picture  yet,  for  any  one,"  he  answered; 
"this  is  only  a  sketch,  from  which  I  shall  try  to  make  two 
pictures  that  will  suggest  a  scene  peculiarly  attractive  to 
one  of  my  calling,  to  say  the  least." 

As  he  placed  the  sketch  in  his  book,  the  work  he  had 
been  engaged  on  that  morning  when  Ida  met  him  by  the 
roadside  dropped  out,  and  she  saw  herself  leaning  on  the 
baluster  rail  of  the  staircase,  with  her  hand  half  extended 
as  a  token  of  forgiveness  and  reconciliation.  Her  cheeks 
flushed  instantly,  but  she  was  able  to  remark  quietly: 


THE    GARDEN   OF   EDEN" 


373 


"I  suppose  that  is  the  way  you  artists  keep  a  memoran- 
dum of  current  events." 

He  replied  gravely,  but  with  some  answering  color  also, 
"Yes,  Miss  May  hew,  when  the  current  is  deep  and  strong." 

Van  Berg  felt  himself  happy  in  securing  from  Mr.  El- 
tinge  an  invitation  to  come  again.  As  they  were  riding 
home,  Ida  remarked,  shyly: 

tlI  did  not  know  you  could  draw  so  well." 

"Nor  did  I,  either,  before.    That  old  garden  is  enchanted 

ground." 

11  Yes,"  said  Ida,  "poor  Eve  was  driven  out  of  the  Gar- 
den of  Eden,  but  I  feel  as  if  I  had  found  my  way  into  it.  I 
only  wish  I  could  stay  there,"  and  her  sigh  was  long  and 

deep. 

"Does  the  world  outside  seem  very  full  of  thorns  and 

thistles?"  he  asked,  kindly. 

After    a    moment    she    replied,    simply    and    briefly, 

"Yes." 

He  looked  at  her  sympathetically  for  a  moment,  and  then 

said  earnestly : 

"Miss  Ida,  pardon  me  if  I  venture  a  prediction.  Wher- 
ever you  dwell,  hereafter,  all  that  is  good  and  beautiful  in 
life  and  character  which  the  garden  typifies  will  begin  to 
take  the  place  of  thorns  and  thistles." 

"I  hope  so,"  she  faltered,  "but  that  involves  bleeding 
hands,  Mr.  Van  Berg.  I  am  not  cast  in  heroic  mold.  I  am 
weak  and  wavering,  and  as  a  proof  I  am  dwelling  on  the 
very  subject  that  I  had  forbidden.  I  trust  that  you  will  be 
too  manly  to  take  advantage  of  my  weakness  henceforth  and 
will  try  to  help  me  forget  myself. 

11  That  may  be  a  harder  task  than  you  think,  but  I  will 
attempt  whatever  you  ask,"  and  from  her  pleased  and  in- 
terested expression  it  would  seem  that  during  the  next  half- 
hour  he  succeeded  remarkably  well.  Suddenly,  as  if  a 
happy  thought  had  struck  him,  he  said,  a  little  abruptly: 

"I  foresee  that  you  and  Miss  Burton  are  destined  to 
become  great  friends.     You  have  not  yet  learned  what  a 


374  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

lovely  character  she  possesses  and  how  broad  and  deep  are 
her  sympathies." 

Ida's  silence  caused  him  to  turn  and  look  at  her,  and  he 
saw  that  the  light  and  color  had  faded  from  her  face,  but  she 
said,  emphatically: 

"Miss  Burton  is  even  more  admirable  than  you  think  her 
to  be,  if  that  were  possible." 

"I  am  pleased  to  hear  one  lady  speak  so  strongly  and 
generously  of  another.  It  is  not  usual.  I  shall  do  my  ut- 
most to  make  you  better  acquainted  with  each  other,  and  in 
this  pleasant  task  am  sure  I  shall  render  you  a  very  great 

service." 

41  Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  beg  you  will  not,"  she  exclaimed, 
hastily,  and  he  saw  with  surprise  that  she  appeared  pain- 
fully embarrassed. 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  May  hew,"  he  said;  "I  did  not  mean 
to  be  officious." 

Ida  saw  no  way  of  extricating  herself  save  by  promptly 
changing  the  subject,  and  this  she  did;  but  she  could  not 
fail  to  observe  that  her  companion  was  hurt  by  her  apparent 
unfriendliness  toward  one  on  whom  he  believed  he  had  be- 
stowed the  best  a  man  could  give.  The  remainder  of  the 
drive  was  not  enjoyed  by  either  of  them  as  the  earlier  part 
had  been,  and  something  like  constraint  tinged  the  manner 
and  words  of  both. 

As  they  drove  up  to  the  hotel  Stanton  gave  a  low  whistle 
of  surprise,  but  was  in  no  mood  for  his  old-time  banter. 


PROBLEMS    BEYOND    ART  375 


CHAPTER   XLV 

PROBLEMS   BEYOND   ART 

WREN  Van  Berg  left  the  garden  he  thought  he  had 
learned  to  understand  Ida  almost  as  clearly  as  he 
saw  the  pebbly  bed  of  the  little  brook  through 
the  limpid  current  that  flowed  over  it,  and  yet  within  a  brief 
half- hour  another  baffling  mystery  had  arisen.  Why  did 
she  dislike  Jennie  Burton  ?  Why  she  had  disliked  her  was 
plain,  but  it  seemed  to  follow  inevitably  that  one  who  could 
love  old  Mr.  Eltinge  must  also  find  a  congenial  friend  in  the 
woman  he  so  greatly  admired. 

As  the  remainder  of  the  day  passed,  this  new  cloud  dark- 
ened and  seemed  to  shadow  even  himself.  While  he  could 
detect  no  flaw  in  her  courtesy,  he  could  not  help  feeling  that 
she  made  a  conscious  effort  to  avoid  them  both.  At  dinner 
she  conversed  chiefly  with  her  cousin.  Van  Berg's  eyes 
would  wander  often  to  her  face,  but  she  never  looked  to- 
ward him  unless  he  spoke  to  her.  When  he  or  Miss  Burton 
addressed  her  there  was  not  a  trace  of  coldness  in  her  man- 
ner of  responding;  a  superficial  observer  would  merely  think 
they  were  people  in  whom  she  was  not  especially  interested. 

"Poor  child,"  thought  Jennie  Burton,  ltshe  acts  her  part 
well,"  and  she  puzzled  the  artist  still  further  by  taking  less 
notice  of  Ida  than  usual. 

ltBut  when  I  think  of  it,"  he  mused,  "it's  just  like  my 
unique  little  friend.  Only  those  in  trouble  interest  her,  and 
Miss  Mayhew  is  on  a  straight  road  to  happiness  now,  she 
believes,  although  the  young  lady  herself  seems  to  dread  a 


376  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

world  full  of  thorns  and  thistles,  and  her  father  and  mother, 
at  least,  will  insure  an  abundance  of  both  in  her  own  home. 
But  her  repulsion  from  Miss  Burton,  the  very  one  toward 
whom  I  supposed  she  would  be  attracted  in  her  new  life,  is 
what  perplexes  me  most.  I  imagine  all  women  are  myster- 
ies when  you  come  to  scrutinize  their  motives  and  impulses 
closely.  The  two  who  have  occupied  my  thoughts  this  sum- 
mer certainly  are,  and  I'll  stick  to  painting  if  1  ever  get  Out 
of  this  muddle." 

After  dinner  he  found  a  chance  to  ask  Stanton  if  Mr. 
May  hew  were  expected  that  evening. 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "In  memory  of  last  Sunday  he 
wrote  he  would  not  come,  but  Ida  sent  a  telegram  asking 
him  to  be  here  without  fail.  I  took  it  over  to  the  station 
for  her,  and  made  sure  that  my  uncle  received  it.  She.  will 
puzzle  him  more  than  she  has  the  rest  of  us,  I  suppose,  and 
I  am  quite  curious  to  see  the  result. " 

The  artist  made  no  reply,  but  went  to  his  room  and  tried 
to  work  on  his  pictures.  He  was  more  than  curious— he  was 
deeply  interested,  but  felt  that  he  was  trenching  on  delicate 
ground.  The  relations  between  the  father  and  daughter 
were  too  sacred,  he  believed,  for  even  sympathetic  observa- 
tion on  his  part. 

He  soon  threw  aside  his  work.  The  inspiration  of  the 
morning  was  all  gone,  and  in  its  place  had  come  an  unac- 
countable dissatisfaction  with  himself  and  the  world  in  gen- 
eral. He  had  left  the  garden  with  a  sense  of  exhilaration 
that  made  life  appear  beautiful  and  full  of  the  richest  prom- 
ise. He  had  been  saved  from  a  disaster  that  would  have 
been  crushing;  his  object  in  coming  to  the  country  had  been 
accomplished,  and  the  Undine  he  discovered  had  received  a 
woman's  soul  that  was  blending  the  perfect  but  discordant 
features  into  an  exquisitely  beautiful  face.  The  result,  cer- 
tainly, had  not  been  brought  about  as  he  expected,  nor  in  a 
way  tending  to  increase  his  self-complacency,  but  he  felt 
that  he  would  be  a  broader  and  better  man  for  the  ordeal 
through  which  he  had  passed.     He  also  realized  that  the 


PROBLEMS    BEYOND    ART  377 

changes  in  Ida  were  not  the  superficial  ones  he  had  contem- 
plated. He  had  regarded  her  face  and  character  as  little 
better  than  a  piece  of  canvas  on  which  there  was  already  a 
drawing  of  great  promise,  but  very  defective.  By  erasures 
here  and  skilful  touches  there  he  had  hoped  to  assist  nature 
in  carrying  out  her  evident  intentions.  The  tragedy  that 
wellnigh  resulted  taught  him  that  human  lives  are  danger- 
ous playthings,  and  that  quackery  in  attempting  spiritual 
reform  involved  more  peril  than  ignorant  interference  with 

physical  laws. 

And  yet  that  morning  had  proved  that  the  desired  change 
had  been  accomplished,  even  more  thoroughly  than  he  had 
hoped.  The  dangerous  period  of  transition  had  been  safely 
passed,  and  the  beautiful  face  expressed  that  which  was  more 
than  womanly  refinement,  thought,  and  culture.  These  ele- 
ments would  develop  with  time.  But  the  countenance  on 
which  he  had  seen  the  impress  of  vanity,  pride,  and  insin- 
cerity, and  later  the  despair  of  a  wronged  and  desperate 
woman,  had  grown  open  and  childlike  again  as  she  told 
him  her  story  and  read  to  Mr.  Eltinge;  and  in  it,  as 
through  a  clear  transparency,  he  had  witnessed  the  kind- 
ling light  of  the  Christian  faith  his  mother  had  taught  him 
to  respect,  at  least,  long  years  before. 

He  had  left  the  garden  with  the  belief  that  he  had  se- 
cured the  friendship  of  this  rare  Undine,  and  that  she  would 
bring  to  his  art  an  inspiration  like  that  of  which  he  was  so 
grandly  conscious  while  making  the  picture  in  which  she 
formed  the  loveliest  feature.  He  had  expected  with  in- 
stinctive certainty  that  she  would  now  be  drawn  toward 
the  woman  he  hoped  to  make  his  wife,  and  that  friendships 
would  be  cemented  that  would  last  through  life. 

But  in  suggesting  this  hope  and  expectation  to  Ida  it  had 
been  as  if  a  cloud  had  suddenly  passed  before  the  sun,  and 
now  the  whole  sky  was  darkening.  Jennie  Burton  seemed 
more  shadowy  and  remote  than  ever— more  wrapped  up  in 
a  past  in  which  he  had  no  part;  and  the  maiden  into  whose 
very  soul  he  thought  he  had  looked  became  inscrutable 


378  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

again  in  the  distant  courtesy  of  her  manner.  Even  during 
the  brief  hour  of  dinner  he  was  led  to  feel  that  he  had  no. 
inevitable  place  in  the  thoughts  of  either  of  the  ladies,  and 
this  impression  was  increased  as  he  sought  their  society  late> 

in  the  clay. 

Moreover,  in  his  changed  mood  he  again  began  to  chafe 
irritably  at  Ida's  associations.  She  herself  had  been  thor- 
oughly redeemed  in  an  artistic  point  of  view,  and  it  was  his 
nature  to  look  at  things  in  this  light.  While  he  shuddered 
at  her  terrible  purpose  he  recognized  the  high,  strong  siprit 
which  in  its  perversion  and  wrong  had  rendered  the  deed 
possible,  and  her  dark  design  made  a  grand  and  sombre 
background  against  which  the  maiden  he  had  sketched  that 
morning  was  all  the  more  luminous.  Hitherto  everything 
connected  with  her  change  of  character  had  been  not  only 
unconventional,  but  had  appealed  to  his  aesthetic  tempera- 
ment as  singularly  beautiful.  The  quaint  garden  with  its 
flowers,  brook,  and  allegorical  tree  were  associations  that 
harmonized  with  Ida's  loveliness,  while  Mr.  Eltinge,  who 
had  rendered  such  an  immeasurable  service  to  them  both, 
realized  his  best  ideal  of  dignified  and  venerable  age. 

But  when  he  compared  her  spiritual  father  with  the  man 
she  expected  that  night,  he  found  his  whole  nature  becom- 
ing full  of  irritable  protest  and  dissatisfaction. 

41  This  morning,"  he  muttered,  "she  appeared  capable  of 
realizing  a  poet's  dreams,  but  already  I  see  the  hard  and 
prosaic  conditions  of  her  lot  dwarfing  her  growth  and  throw- 
ing their  grotesque  shadows  across  her  beauty.     What  can 
she  do  while  inseparable  from  such  a  father  and  mother? 
The  more  unlike  them  she  becomes  the  more  hideous  they 
will  appear.    Mrs.  Mayhew  is  essentially  lacking  in  womanly 
delicacy,  and  mere  coarseness  is  more  tolerable  than  fashion- 
able, veneered  vulgarity.    Mr.  Mayhew  is  a  spiritless  wretch 
whose  only  protest  against  his  wife's  overbearance  and  in- 
difference has  been  intoxication.     Linked  on  either  side  to 
so  much  deformity,  what  chance  has  the  daughter  unless 
she  escapes  from  them  and  develops  a  separate  life  ?    But 


PROBLEMS    BEYOND    ART 


379 


are  not  the  ties  of  nature  too  close  to  permit  such  escape, 
and  would  it  not  be  wrong  to  seek  it?  It  certainly  would 
not  be  Christian,  and  I  am  confident  Mr.  Eltinge  would  not 
advise  it.  Her  lot  is  indeed  a  cruel  one.  No  wonder  she 
clings  to  Mr.  Eltinge  and  the  garden,  and  that  the  outside 
world  seems  full  of  thorns  and  thistles.  Well,  I  pity  her 
from  the  depths  of  my  heart,  and  cannot  see  how  she  will 
solve  the  harsh  problem  of  her  life.  I  imagine  she  will  soon 
become  discouraged  and  seek  by  marriage  to  obliterate  her 
present  ties  as  far  as  possible." 

Having  reached  this  unsatisfactory  conclusion  he  threw 
his  sketch  impatiently  aside  and  went  down  to  the  piazza. 
Ida  and  her  mother  were  already  there,  for  it  was  about 
time  for  arrivals  from  the  earlier  train.  Van  Berg  felt  al- 
most sure  that  Ida  must  have  been  aware  that  he  was  stand- 
ing near  her,  but  she  exhibited  no  consciousness  of  his 
presence.  When  a  little  later  they  met  in  promenade  she 
bowed  politely  but  absently,  and  in  a  way  that  would  lead 
any  who  were  observing  them  to  think  that  he  was  not  in 
Ler  thoughts.  So  he  was  led  to  believe  himself,  but  Miss 
Burton,  who  was  reading  in  one  of  the  parlor  windows, 
smiled  and  whispered  to  herself,   "Well  done/' 

Ida  was  in  hopes  that  her  father  would  take  the  first 
opportunity  of  reaching  the  Lake  House,  and  she  was  not 
disappointed.  The  telegram  had  flashed  into  his  leaden- 
hued  life  that  day  like  a  meteor.  Did  it  portend  good  or 
evil?  Evil  only,  he  feared,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  evil 
would  ever  be  his  portion.  It  was  therefore  with  a  vague 
sense  of  apprehension  that  he  looked  forward  to  meeting 
his  wife  and  daughter. 

As  he  emerged  fro  n  the  stage  with  the  others  he  found 
Ida  halfway  down  the  steps  to  greet  him. 

4 'I'm  so  glad  you've  come!"  she  said  in  a  low,  earnest 
voice,  and  she  kissed  him,  not  in  the  old  formal  way,  as 
if  it  were  the  only  proper  thing  to  do,  but  as  a  daughter 
greeting  her  father.  Then,  before  he  could  recover  from  his 
surprise,  his  light  travelling  bag  was  taken  from  him  and 


380  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

the  young  girl's  arm  linked  lovingly  in  his,  and  he  led  to 
Mrs!  Mayhew,  who  also  kissed  him,  but  in  a  way,  it  must 
be  admitted,  that  suggested  a  duty  rather  than  a  pleasure. 

Her  husband  scarcely  gave  to  her  a  glance,  however,  but 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  daughter. 

"Ida  is  bewitched,"  said  Mrs.  Mayhew. 

"And  I  hope  you  will  find  me  bewitching,  lather,  for 
I  want  as  much  of  your  society  as  you  will  give  me  during 
this  visit."  She  tried  to  speak  playfully  and  naturally,  but 
tears  were  gathering  in  her  eyes,  for  his  expression  of  per- 
plexity was  singularly  pathetic  and  full  of  the  keenest 
reproach.  "0  Grod,"  she  murmured,  "what  have  I  been 
that  he  should  be  speechless  from  surprise,  when  I  merely 
greet  him  as  a  daughter  should!" 

Van  Berg  turned  hastily  away,  for  he  felt  that  scenes 
were  coming  on  which  he  had  no  right  to  look.  There  was 
nothing  yet  to  indicate  a  wish  on  Ida's  part  to  avoid  inar- 
tistic associations,  and  deep  in  his  heart  he  was  compelled 
to  admit  that  she  had  never  appeared  so  supremely  beauti- 
ful as  when  she  looked  love  and  welcome  into  the  eyes  of 
the  smirched  and  disheartened  man  to  whom  nature  gave 
the  best  right  to  claim  these  gifts. 

"Come  with  me,  father,"  said  Ida,  trying  to  give  him 
a  reassuring  smile,  "and  I  will  answer  your  scared  and 
questioning  glances  in  your  room,"  and  he  went  with  her 
as  if  walking  in  a  dream. 

Tears  now  gathered  in  Jennie  Burton's  eyes,  but  she 
smiled  again  as  she  thought,  "Better  done  still,  Ida  May- 
hew, and  Mr.  Van  Berg,  who  is  stalking  away  so  rapidly 
yonder,  is  not  the  man  I  think  him,  if  you  have  not  now 
made  your  best  and  deepest  impression  on  his  heart." 

11  Ida,"  her  father  faltered,  after  they  had  reached  the 
privacy  of  his  room,  "what  does  your  telegram  mean? 
What  is  important?" 

11  You  are  to  me.  Oh,  father,  please,  please  forgive  me," 
and  she  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  burst  into  a  pas- 
sion of  tears. 


PROBLEMS    BEYOND    ART  381 

The  bewildered  man  began  to  tremble.  "Can  it — can  it 
be  that  my  daughter  has  a  heart?"  he  muttered. 

"Yes,  father,  but  it's  broken  because  of  my  cruel  treat- 
ment of  you;  I  now  hope  better  days  are  coming  for  us 
all." 

He  held  her  away  from  him  and  looked  into  her  face  with 
a  longing  intensity  that  suggested  a  soul  perishing  for  the 
lack  of  love  and  hope. 

"Father,  father,  I  can't  bear  that  look.  Oh,  God  forgive 
me,  how  I  have  wronged  you!"  and  she  buried  her  face  on 
his  shoulder  again. 

"Ida,"  he  said,  slowly  and  pleadingly,  "be  very  careful 
— be  sure  this  is  not  a  passing  impulse,  a  mere  remorseful 
Jwinge  of  conscience.  I've  been  hoping  for  years — I  would 
have  prayed,  if  I  dared  to — for  some  token  that  I  was  not 
a  burden  to  you  and  your  mother.  You  seemed  to  love  me 
some  when  you  were  little,  but  as  you  grew  older  you  grew 
away  from  me.  I've  tried  to  forget  that  I  had  a  heart. 
I've  tried  to  become  a  beast  because  it  was  agony  to  be  a 
man.  W  hy  I  have  lived  1  scarcely  know.  I  thought  I  had 
suffered  all  that  I  could  suffer  in  this  world,  but  I  was  mis- 
taken. 1  left  this  place  last  Monday  with  the  fear  that  my 
beautiful  daughter  was  giving  her  love  to  a  man  even  baser 
than  I  am,  base  and  low  from  choice,  base  and  corrupt  in 
every  fibre  of  his  soul  and  body,  and  from  that  hour  to  this 
it  has  seemed  as  if  I  were  ground  between  two  millstones," 
and  he  shuddered  as  if  smitten  with  an  ague.  "Ida,"  he 
concluded  piteously,  "I'm  too  weak,  I'm  too  far  gone  to 
bear  disappointment.  This  is  more  than  an  impulse,  is  it 
not  ?  You  will  not  throw  yourself  away  ?  Oh,  Ida,  my  only 
child,  if  you  could  be  in  heart  what  you  were  in  your  face 
as  you  greeted  me  to-night,  I  could  die  content!" 

For  a  few  moments  the  poor  girl  could  only  sob  convul- 
sively on  his  breast.     At  last  she  faltered  brokenly: 

"Yes,  father — it  is  an  impulse — an  impulse  from  heaven; 
but  I  shall  pray  daily  that  it  be  not  a  passing  one.  I — I 
have  lost  confidence  in  myself,  but  with  my  Saviour's  help 


382  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

I  will  try  to  be  a  loving  daughter  to  you  and  make  your 
wishes  first  in  everything." 

"Great  God!"  he  muttered,  "can  this  be  true?" 
"Yes,  father,  because  God  is  great,  and  very,  very  kind." 
His  bent  form  became  erect  and  almost  steely  in  its  tense- 
ness. He  gently  but  firmly  placed  her  in  a  chair,  and  then 
paced  the  room  rapidly  a  moment  or  two,  his  dark  eyes 
glowing  with  a  strong  and  kindling  excitement.  Ida  began 
to  regard  him  with  wonder  and  almost  alarm  Suddenly 
he  raised  bis  hand  to  heaven,  and  said  solemnly: 

"This  shall  be  no  one-sided  affair,  so  help  me  God!" 
Then  opening  his  valise,  he  took  out  a  bottle  of  brandy 
and  threw  it,  with  a  crash,  into  the  empty  grate. 

Ida  sprang  toward  him  with  a  glad  cry,  exclaiming: 
"Oh,  father,  now  I  understand  you!     Thank  God!  thank 

God!" 

He  kissed  her  tearful,  upturned  face  again  and  again,  as 
if  he  found  there  the  very  elixir  of  life. 

"Ida,  my  dear  little  Ida,"  he  said,  huskily,  "you  have 
saved  your  father  from  a  drunkard's  end— from  a  drunk- 
ard's grave.     I  was  in  a  drunkard's  hell  already." 

Mr.  Mayhew  requested  that  supper  should  be  served  in 
his  own  room,  for  neither  he  nor  his  daughter  was  in  a  mood 
to  meet  strangers  that  evening.  Ida  called  her  mother,  and 
tried  to  explain  to  her  why  they  did  not  wish  to  go  down, 
but  the  poor  woman  was  not  able  to  grasp  very  much  of  the 
truth,  and  was  decidedly  mystified  by  the  domestic  changes 
which  she  had  very  limited  power  to  appreciate,  and  in 
which  she  had  so  little  part.  She  was  not  a  coarse  woman, 
but  matter   of  fact,    superficial,    and   worldly   to   the   last 

degree. 

Van  Berg  could  scarcely  believe  his  eyes  when  Mr.  May- 
hew  came  down  to  breakfast  with  his  family  Sunday  morn- 
ing. The  bondman  had  become  free;  the  slave  of  a  de- 
grading vice  had  been  transformed  into  a  quiet,  dignified 
gentleman.  His  form  was  erect,  and  while  his  bearing  was 
singularly  modest  and  retiring,  there  was  nothing  of  the  old 


PROBLEMS    BEYOND    ART  383 

cowering,  shrinking  manner  which  suggested  defeat,  loss 
of  self-respect,  and  hopeless  dejection.  Ail  who  knew  him 
instinctively  felt  that  the  prostrate  man  had  risen  to  his  feet, 
and  there  was  something  in  his  manner  that  made  them  be- 
lieve he  would  hold  his  footing  among  other  men  here- 
after. 

The  artist  found  himself  bowing  to  the  "spiritless  wretch" 
with  a  politeness  that  was  by  no  means  assumed,  and  from 
the  natural  and  almost  cordial  manner  in  which  Mr.  May- 
hew  returned  his  salutation,  he  was  very  glad  to  believe 
that  Ida  had  not  told  him  the  deeper  and  darker  secrets  of 
her  experience  during  the  past  week. 

"This  is  her  work,"  he  thought,  and  Ida's  radiant  face 
confirmed  the  impression.  She  then  felt  that  after  her 
father's  words:  4'You  have  saved  me,"  she  could  never  be 
very  unhappy  again.  A  hundred  times  she  had  murmured: 
"Oh,  how  much  better  God's  way  out  of  trouble  has  been 
than  mine!" 

Mr.  Mayhew  had  always  had  peculiar  attractions  for  Miss 
Burton,  and  they  at  once  entered  into  conversation.  But 
as  she  recognized  the  marvellous  change  in  him,  the  pleased 
wonder  of  her  face  grew  so  apparent,  that  he  replied  to  it  in 
low  tones: 

"I  now  believe  in  your  'remedies, '  Miss  Burton;  but  a 
great  deal  depends  on  who  administers  them.  My  little  girl 
and  I  have  been  discovering  how  nearly  related  we  are." 

Her  eyes  grew  moist  with  her  sympathy  and  gladness. 
"Mr.  Mayhew,"  she  said,  "I'm  inclined  to  think  that  heaven 
is  always  within  a  step  or  two  of  us,  if  we  could  only  take 
the  right  steps." 

"To  me  it  has  seemed  beyond  the  furthest  star,"  he  re- 
plied, very  gravely.  "To  some,  however,  the  word  is  as 
indefinite  as  the  place,  and  a  cessation  of  pain  appears 
heaven.  I  could  be  content  to  ask  nothing  better  than  this 
Sabbath  morning  has  brought  me.  I  have  found  what  I 
thought  lost  forever." 

Jennie  Burton  became  very  pale,  as  deep  from  her  heart 


884  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

rose  the  query:  "Shall  I  ever  find  what  I  have  lost?" 
Then  with  a  strong  instinct  to  maintain  her  self-control 
and  shun  a  perilous  nearness  to  her  hidden  sorrow,  she 
changed  the  subject. 

It  was  touching  to  see  how  often  Mr.  May  hew' s  eyes 
turned  toward  his  daughter,  as  if  to  reassure  himself  that 
the  change  in  her  manner  toward  him  was  not  a  dream,  and 
the  expression  of  her  face  as  she  met  his  scrutiny  seemed  to 
brighten  and  cheer  him  like  a  coming  dawn. 

"What  heavenly  magic  is  transforming  Miss  May  hew?" 
Jennie  Burton  asked  of  Van  Berg,  as  they  sauntered  out  on 

the  piazza. 

"With  your  wonted  felicity,  you  express  it  exactly,"  he 
replied.     "It  is  a  heavenly  magic  which  I  don't  understand 
in  the  least,  but  must  believe  in,  since  cause  and  effect  are 
directly  under  my  eyes.     It  has  been  my  good-fortune  to 
witness  as  beautiful  a  scene  as  ever  mortal  saw.     Since  she 
refers   naturally  and  openly  to  the  friends  whom  she  has 
visited  during  the  past  week,  I  may  tell  you  about  Mr.  El- 
tinge's  influence  and  teaching  without  violating  any  confi- 
dence," and  in  harmony  with  the  frank  and  friendly  rela- 
tions which  he  now  sustained  to  Miss  Burton,  he  related  his 
experience  of  the  previous  day,  remaining  scrupulously  reti- 
cent on  every  point,  however,  that  he  even  imagined  Ida 
would  wish  veiled  from  the  knowledge  of  others.     "I  can- 
not tell  you,"  he  concluded,  "how  deeply  the  scene  affected 
me.     It  not  only  awoke  all  the  artist  in  me,  but  the  man 
also.     In  one  brief  hour  I  learned  to  revere  that  noble  old 
gentleman,  and  if  you  could  have  seen  him  leaning  against 
the  emblematic  tree,  as  I  did,  I  think  he  would  have  realized 
your  ideal  of  age,  wholly  devoid  of  weakness  and  bleakness. 
And  then  Miss  Mayhew's  face,  as  she  read  and  listened  to 
him,  seemed  indeed,  in  its  contrast  with  what  we  have  seen 
during  the  past  summer,  the  result  of  'heavenly  magic'     It 
will  be  no  heavy  task  to  fulfil  the  conditions  on  which  I  was 
permitted  to  enter  the  enchanted  garden.     They  expect  mere 
pencil  sketches,  but  1  shall  eventually  give  them  as  truthful 


PROBLEMS    BEYOND    ART  385 

pictures  as  I  am  capable  of  painting,  for  it  is  rare  good-for- 
tune to  find  themes  so  inspiring. ' ' 

Guarded  as  Van  Berg  was  in  his  narrative,  Miss  Burton 
was  able  to  read  more  ''between  the  lines"  than  in  his  words. 
He  did  not  understand  her  motive  when  she  said,  as  if  it 
were  her  first  obvious  thought: 

"The  picture  which  you  have  presented,  even  to  the  eye 
of  my  fancy,  is  uniquely  beautiful,  and  I  think  it  must  re- 
deem Miss  Mayhew,  in  your  mind,  from  all  her  disagreeable 
associations.  But  in  my  estimation  she  appeared  to  even 
better  advantage  in  the  greeting  she  gave  her  father  last 
evening.  Was  there  ever  a  more  delicious  surprise  on 
earth  than  that  poor  man  had  when  he  returned  and  found 
a  true  and  loving  daughter  awaiting  him  ?  With  her  filial 
hands  she  has  already  lifted  him  out  of  the  mire  of  his  deg- 
radation, and  to-day  he  is  a  gentleman  whom  you  involun- 
tarily respect.  Oh,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
inexpressibly  beautiful  and  reassuriDg  such  things  are  to 
me !  You  look  at  the  changes  we  are  witnessing  from  the 
standpoint  of  an  artist,  I  from  that  of  poor  wounded  human- 
ity; and  what  I  have  seen  in  Ida  Mayhew  and  her  father  is 
proof  to  me  that  there  is  a  good  God  above  all  the  chaos 
around  me,  which  I  cannot  understand  and  which  at  times 
disheartens  me.  Their  happier  and  ennobled  faces  are  a 
prophecy  and  an  earnest  of  that  time  when  the  sway  of  evil 
shall  be  broken,  when  famishing  souls  and  empty  hearts 
shall  be  filled,  when  broken,  thwarted  lives  are  made  per- 
fect, and  what  was  missed  and  lost  regained." 

She  looked  away  from  him  into  the  summer  sky,  which 
the  sun  was  flooding  with  cloudless  light.  There  were  no 
tears  in  her  eyes,  but  an  expression  of  intense  and  sorrow- 
ful longing  that  was  far  beyond  such  simple  and  natural 
expression. 

"Jennie  Burton,"  said  Van  Berg,  in  a  low,  earnest  voice, 
"there  are  times  when  I  could  suffer  all  things  to  make  you 
happy." 

She  started  as  if  she  had  almost  forgotten  his  presence, 

it— Roe— XII 


S86  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

and  answered  quietly:  "You  could  not  make  me  happy  by 
suffering.  Only  as  I  can  banish  a  little  pain  and  gloom  here 
and  there  do  I  find  solace.  But  I  can  do  so  very,  very  lit- 
tle. It  reassures  me  to  see  God  doing  this  work  in  his 
grand,  large  way.  And  yet  it  seems  to  me  that  he  might 
brighten  the  world  as  the  sun  fills  this  sky  with  light.  As 
it  is,  the  rays  that  illumine  hearts  and  faces  glint  only  here 
and  there  between  the  threatening  clouds  of  evil.  Mr.  Van 
Berg,  you  do  not  know— you  have  never  realized  how  shad- 
owed humanity  is.  Within  a  mile  of  your  studio,  that  is 
full  of  light  and  beauty,  there  are  thousands  who  are  per- 
ishing in  slow,  remorseless  pain.  It  is  this  awful  mystery 
of  evil — this  continuous  groan  and  cry  of  anguish  that  has 
gone  up  to  heaven  through  all  the  ages — that  appalls  my 
heart  and  staggers  my  faith.  But  there — after  what  I  have 
seen  to-day  I  have  no  right  to  such  gloomy  thoughts.  I 
suppose  my  religion  seems  to  you  no  more  than  a  clinging 
faith  in  a  far-away,  incomprehensible  God,  and  so  is  not 
very  attractive  ?  I  wish  I  could  suggest  to  you  something 
more  satisfactory,  but  since  I  cannot  I'll  leave  you  to  find 
better  influences." 

"It  does  seem  to  me  that  rash,  faulty  Ida  May  hew  has  a 
better  faith  than  this,"  he  thought;  "she  believes  she  has 
found  a  near  and  helpful  Friend,  while  my  sad-eyed  saint 
has  only  a  God,  and  is  always  in  pathetic  doubt  whether 
her  prayer  can  bridge  the  infinite  distance  between  them. 
Who  is  right?  Is  either  right?  I  used  to  be  impressed 
with  how  much  I  knew;  I'm  glad  the  opposite  impression 
is  becoming  so  strong,  for,  as  Miss  Burton  says,  the  hope- 
less fools  are  those  who  never  find  themselves  out. 

"She  was  right.  Ida  May  hew  will  ever  appear  to  better 
advantage  in  aiding  her  poor  father  to  regain  his  manhood 
than  by  the  most  artistic  combination  of  circumstances  that 
I  could  imagine.  All  the  man  in  me  recognizes  the  sacred- 
ness  of  the  duty  and  the  beauty  of  its  performance.  And 
yet  but  yesterday  I  was  stupid  enough  to  believe  that  her 
best  chance  for  development  was  to  escape  from  her  father 


PROBLEMS  BEYOND  ART  387 

and  live  a  separate  life.  It  has  taken  only  a  few  hours  to 
prove  how  superficial  was  my  philosophy  of  life.  Guided 
simply  by  the  instincts  of  love  and  duty,  this  faulty  girl  has 
accomplished  more  than  I  had  supposed  possible  But  her 
mother  will  continue  a  thorn  in  her  side,"  and  Van  Berg 
was  not  far  astray. 


388  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 


JVt 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

A   RESOLUTE   PHILOSOPHER 

R.  MAYHEW  attended  church  with  his  family  that 
morning — a  thing  that  he  had  not  done  for  years 
— and  in  the  afternoon  Ida  took  him  to  see  her 
spiritual  birthplace,  and  to  call  on  her  spiritual  father. 
The  welcome  that  old  Mr.  Eltinge  gave,  and  the  words  he 
spoke,  did  much  toward  establishing  in  the  man  who  had 
been  so  disheartened  hope  that  a  new  and  better  future  was 
opening  before  him. 

When  about  to  part,  he  put  his  left  arm  around  his 
daughter,  and  giving  his  hand  to  Mr.  Eltinge,  said,  with 
a  voice  broken  by  his  feelings: 

"I  am  bewildered  yet.  I  can't  understand  my  happi- 
ness. Yesterday  I  was  perishing  in  a  boundless  desert. 
To-day  the  desert  has  vanished,  and  I'm  in  this  sweet  old 
garden.  There  are  no  flowers  or  fruits  in  it,  however,  that 
can  compare  with  the  love  and  truth  1  now  see  in  this  child's 
face.  I  won't  speak  of  the  service  you  have  rendered  us 
both.     It's  beyond  all  words." 

It  was  indeed  greater  than  he  knew,  for  Ida  had  con- 
cluded never  to  speak  again  of  her  terrible  secret.  God 
had  forgiven  her,  and  nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  any  ref- 
erence to  a  subject  that  had  become  inexpressibly  painful. 
"Bemember,"  said  the  stanch  and  faithful  old  man  as  they 
were  about  to  drive  away,  "nothing  good  lasts  unless  built 
up  from  the  Author  of  all  good.  Unless  you  act  on  this 
truth  you'll  find  yourself  in  the  desert  again,  and  all  you 
are  now  enjoying  will  seem  like  a  mirage." 


A    RESOLUTE    PHILOSOPHER  389 

Poor  Mr.  May  hew  could  not  endure  to  lose  a  moment  of 
his  daughter's  society,  for  the  long  thirst  of  years  was  to  be 
slaked.  They  took  a  roundabout  way  home,  and  the  sum- 
mer evening  deepened  into  twilight  and  dusk  before  they 
approached  the  hotel. 

"See,  father,  there  is  the  new  moon,  and  it  hangs  over 
your  right  shoulder,"  cried  Ida,  gleefully. 

"It's  over  your  right  shoulder,  too,  and  that  thought 
pleases  me  better  still.  I  wish  I  could  make  you  very 
happy.     Tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

"Take  me  to  New  York  with  you  to-morrow,"  said  Ida, 
promptly. 

"Now  you  are  trying  to  make  a  martyr  of  yourself  for 
me.     You  forget  how  hot  and  dusty  the  city  is  in  August." 
"I'm  going  with  you,"  she  said  decisively,  "unless  you 
say  no." 

11  My  heart  would  say  yes,  even  if  my  lips  did  say  no." 
"I'm  going  to  spend  part  of  the  time  with  you  until  your 
vacation  begins  next  month,  and  then  we'll  explore  every 
nook  and  corner  of  this  region. ' ' 

"There,  Ida,  say  no  more  to-day.  My  cup  is  overflowing 
now,  and  the  fear  is  already  growing  that  such  happiness 
won't  last — can't  last  in  a  world  like  ours." 

"Father,"  said  Ida,  gently,  "I've  found  a  Friend  that  has 
promised  me  more  than  present  happiness.  He  has  prom- 
ised me  eternal  life.  He  is  pledged  to  make  all  seeming 
evil  result  in  my  final  good.  How  it  can  be  I  don't  see  at 
all,  but  I'm  trying  to  take  him  at  his  word.  You  must  not 
worry  if  I'm  not  always  in  good  spirits.  I  suppose  every 
one  in  the  world  has  a  burden  to  carry,  but  I  don't  think 
it  can  crush  us  if  our  Saviour  helps  us  carry  it.  My  faith 
is  very  simple,  you  see;  I  feel  I'm  like  one  of  those  little 
children  He  took  in  His  arms  and  blessed,  and  I'm  sure 
His  blessing  is  not  an  empty  form.  It  has  made  me  love 
and  trust  Him,  and  that's  all  the  religion  I  have  or  know 
anything  about.  You  must  not  expect  great  things  of  me; 
you  must  not  watch  me  too  closely.     Just  let  me  take  my 


390  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

own  quiet  way  in  life,  for  I  want  my  life  henceforth  to  be  as 
quiet  and  unobtrusive  as  the  little  brook  that  runs  through 
Mr.  Eltinge's  garden,  that  is  often  in  the  shade,  you  know, 
as  well  as  in  the  light,  but  Mr.  Eltinge  lets  it  flow  after  its 
own  fashion;  so  you  must  let  me.  I'll  always  try  to  make 
a  little  low,  sweet  music  for  you,  if  not  for  the  world.  So 
please  do  not  commence  puzzling  your  poor  tired  brain  how 
to  make  me  happy  or  gay,  or  want  to  take  me  here  and 
there.  Just  leave  me  to  myself;  let  me  have  my  own  way 
for  a  while,  at  least;  and  if  you  can  do  anything  for  me, 
I  promise  to  tell  you." 

Ever  since  her  drive  with  Van  Berg  the  previous  day, 
there  had  been  a  deep  undercurrent  of  thought  in  Ida's 
mind,  and  she  had  at  last  concluded  that  she  could  scarcely 
keep  her  secret  with  any  certainty  while  under  his  eyes, 
and  especially  those  of  Miss  Burton.  She  was  too  direct 
and  positive  in  her  nature,  and  her  love  was  too  strong  and 
absorbing,  for  the  cool  and  indifferent  bearing  she  was  trying 
to  maintain.  "Her  eyes,  her  cheeks,  her  tones,  and  even 
words,  might  prove  traitors  at  any  time  and  betray  her. 
She  longed  to  be  alone,  and  the  large  empty  city  house 
seemed  the  quiet  refuge  that  she  needed.  At  the  same 
time,  it  would  give  her  deep  satisfaction  to  be  with  her 
father  after  his  return  from  business,  and  make  amends 
for  years  of  neglect. 

He  looked  at  her  wistfully,  feeling,  in  a  vague  way,  that 
he  did  not  understand  her  yet.  There  was  a  minor  chord 
in  her  voice,  and  there  had  been  a  sadness  in  her  eyes  at 
times  which  began  to  suggest  to  him  that  he  had  not  learned 
all  the  causes  that  were  so  marvellously  transforming  her 
from  her  old  self.  Her  mother  would  question  and  ques- 
tion. He,  on  the  contrary,  would  wait  patiently  till  the 
confidence  was  given,  and  so  he  merely  said,  gently: 

"All  right,  little  girl;  I'll  try  to  make  you  happy  in 
your  own  way." 

Van  Berg,  going  out  for  a  walk  after  tea,  again  heard 
the  girlish  voice  singing  the  quaint  hymn- tune  that  had 


A    RESOLUTE    PHILOSOPHER  391 

awakened  the  memories  of  his  childhood  the  previous  day. 
He  instantly  concealed  himself  by  the  .roadside,  and  in  a 
moment  or  two  Ida  and  her  father  drove  by.  fie  was  able 
in  the  dusk  to  note  only  that  her  head  rested  on  her  father's 
shoulder,  and  her  voice  was  sweet  and  plaintive  as  she  sang 
words  that  he  could  not  hear  distinctly,  but  which  were  as 
follows,  as  far  as  he  could  catch  them: 

I  know  not  the  way  he  is  leading  me, 

But  I  know  he  is  leading  me  home; 

Though  lonely  the  path  and  dark  to  me, 

It  is  safe  and  it  wends  to  my  home. 

Home  of  the  blest, 

Home  that  is  rest 

To  the  weary  pilgrim's  feet,  to  the  weary  pilgrim's  heart, 

and  then  her  words  were  lost  in  the  distance. 

With  an  impulse  he  did  not  think  of  resisting,  he  fol- 
lowed them  back  to  the  hotel  and  waited  patiently  till  she 
and  her  father  came  out  from  supper. 

41  Miss  May  hew,"  he  said,  a  little  discontentedly,  "I  have 
scarcely  had  a  chance  to  say  a  word  to  you  to-day,  and  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say." 

She  looked  at  him  with  some  surprise  as  she  replied, 
44 Well,  I  think  I  might  at  least  become  a  good  listener." 

"Do  you  mean  a  patient  one?" 

"I  never  had  any  patience,"  she  answered,  with  some- 
thing like  a  smile. 

"And  I  was  never  so  possessed  by  the  demon  of  impa- 
tience as  I  have  been  this  afternoon.  There  hasn't  been  a 
soul  around  that  I  cared  to  talk  with,  and  if  you  knew  how 
out  of  conceit  I  am  with  my  own  company,  you  would  feel 
some  commiseration.  How  I  envied  you  your  visit  to  the 
garden  this  afternoon,  for  I  felt  sure  you  took  your  father 
thither.  May  I  not  go  with  you  again  to-morrow,  or  soon  ? 
I  wish  to  make  my  sketch  more  accurate  before  beginning 
your  picture." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  he  little  knew  how  he  was 
-tempting  her.  Then  she  replied,  so  quietly  and  decisively 
as  to  seem  almost  cold,  "Mr.  Eltinge,  I'm  sure,  will  be  very 


392  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

glad  to  see  you,  but  I  shall  go  to  the  city  with  my  father  in 
the  morning  and  remain  in  town  all  the  week."  She  was 
puzzled  at  his  unmistakable  expression  of  regret  and  disap- 
pointment, and  added,  hastily,  "Mr.  Van  Berg,  you  are 
taking  far  too  much  trouble.  I  would  be  more  than  satis- 
fied— I  would  be  delighted  with  such  a  sketch  as  you  made 
to-day,  with  the  omission  of  myself." 

"But  if,  instead  of  being  trouble,  it  gave  me  great  pleas- 
ure to  make  the  picture  with  the  utmost  care  ?" 

l4I  suppose,"  she  replied,  "that  you  have  a  high  artistic 
sense  that  must  be  satisfied,  and  that  you  see  imperfections 
that  I  cannot." 

"You  are  severe  upon  me,  Miss  May  hew,  but  since  you 
have  such  good  reason  I  cannot  complain.  Still,  in  justice 
to  myself,  I  must  say  that  satisfying  my  artistic  sense  was 
not  my  motive." 

4lI  did  not  mean  to  be  severe — I  do  not  mean  what  you 
think,"  Ida  began,  very  eagerly.  Then  she  checked  herself 
and  added,  after  a  moment,  with  a  slight  tinge  of  sadness  in 
her  tone,  "I  fear  we  are  fated  to  misunderstand  each  other. 
Good-night,  Mr.  Van  Berg,"  and  she  turned  decisively  away 
and  joined  her  father,  who  was  talking  with  Stanton. 

The  artist  was  both  hurt  and  perplexed,  and  he  abruptly 
left  the  hall  and  started  again  on  the  walk  which  had  been 
so  unexpectedly  interrupted.  He  strode  away  through  the 
starlight  with  a  swiftness  that  was  scarcely  in  harmony  with 
the  warm,  still  summer  night.  Before  he  was  aware  of  it 
he  was  a  mile  away.     Stopping  suddenly  he  muttered: 

"I  won't  be  so  baffled  and  puzzled.  I  will  learn  to 
understand  Ida  May  hew  before  this  summer  is  over.  It's 
ridiculous  that  I  should  be  so  dull  and  stupid.  She  says 
she  fears  we  are  'fated  to  misunderstand  each  other. '  I  defy 
such  a  blind  stupid  fate.  I  used  to  have  some  brains  and 
tact  before  I  came  to  this  place,  and  I  scarcely  think  I've 
become  an  idiot.  I  am  determined  to  win  that  girl's  friend- 
ship, and  I  intend  to  follow  her  career  and  watch  the  rare 
and  beautiful  development  of  her  character.    That  one  hour 


A    RESOLUTE   PHILOSOPHER 


393 


in  the  garden  yesterday  taught  me  what  an  inspiration  her 
exquisite  beauty  can  be  in  my  profession,  and  surely  with 
the  vantage-ground  I  already  possess  I  ought  to  have  skill 
enough  to  win  a  place  among  her  friends,"  and  he  walked 
back  almost  as  quickly  as  he  had  stalked  away. 

Ida  had  seen  his  departure  and  recognized  the  fact  that 
she  had  hurt  his  feelings.  It  was  strange  that  so  little  a 
thing  could  depress  her  so  greatly,  for  she  felt  that  the  first 
real  Sabbath  she  had  ever  spent  and  which  had  been  in 
truth  a  Sun-day  to  her  thus  far,  was  now  ending  in  shadows 
darker  than  the  night.  llHow  weak  I  am,"  she  thought; 
UI  must  go  away  as  soon  as  possible,  or  else  I  shall  be 
sorry.  The  companionship  that  he  can  give  so  easily  and 
frankly  when  Miss  Burton  is  not  at  hand  to  occupy  him  is 
impossible  for  me,  and  would  only  end  in  the  betrayal  of 
a  secret  that  I  would  hide  even  more  anxiously  than  the 
crime  I  could  not  conceal  from  him.  My  duty  and  my 
father  must  be  everything  hereafter,"  and  she  turned  reso- 
lutely to  him,  saying: 

"Father,  take  a  seat  in  the  parlor  while  I  go  and  rind 
mother.  I  want  these  people  to  see  that  you  have  a  family 
who  at  least  show  that  they  appreciate  all  the  luxuries  and 
comforts  you  are  providing  for  them." 

Mr.  Mayhew  was  more  deeply  gratified  by  her  words 
than  she  could  understand,  for  any  recognition  of  his  man- 
hood and  rightful  position  which  was  quiet  and  unobtrusive, 
was  balm  and  healing  to  his  wounded  self-respect.  Hitherto 
he  had  believed  correctly  that  his  family  wished  to  keep 
him  out  of  sight,  and  at  no  time  before  had  he  realized  the 
change  that  had  taken  place  in  Ida  more  keenly  than  when 
she  made  this  simple  and  natural  proposition.  His  grateful 
smile  as  be  complied  with  her  request  did  her  good,  but  she 
soon  discovered  that  in  her  mother  she  had  a  very  difficult 
subject  to  manage.  She  found  that  lady  in  her  room  wear- 
ing a  gloomy  and  injured  expression. 

kt  You  have  condescended  at  last  to  come  and  see  whether 
I  was  alive,  I  see,"  she  said,  as  Ida  entered  the  room. 


894  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

Her  daughter  went  directly  to  her,  and  kissing  her  re- 
plied, "We  haven't  intended  to  leave  you  so  long  or  to  neg- 
lect you  in  the  least,  and  I'll  explain." 

"Oh,  no  need  of  explaining.  Excuses  always  make 
matters  worse.  Here  is  the  fact — I've  been  left  all  the 
afternoon  to  myself." 

"Have  you  noticed  no  other  fact  to-day,  mother?"  asked 
Ida,  gravely. 

"Yes,  I've  noticed  that  you  and  your  father  have  been 
so  wrapped  up  in  each  other  that  I'm  nobody,  and  might 
as  well  be  Mrs.  John  Smith  as  Mrs.  May  hew." 

"Pardon  me,  mother,  you  are  exaggerating,"  said  Ida, 
firmly.  "Father  was  very  polite  to  you  at  breakfast  and 
dinner,  and  he  went  to  church  with  you  this  morning,  and 
I  can  scarcely  remember  when  he  has  done  this  before.  I 
am  chiefly  to  blame  for  keeping  him  away  so  long  this  after- 
noon, for  I  wanted  him  to  see  and  talk  with  my  friend,  Mr. 
Eltinge,  who  has  done  me  so  much  good.  I  thought  he 
might  help  father,  too,  and  I  truly  believe  he  has.  I  repeat 
to  you  again,  in  all  sincerity  and  love,  that  we  have  not  in- 
tended to  neglect  you,  and  father  now  wishes  you  to  come 
down  and  join  him  in  the  parlor,  so  that  we  can,  as  a  family, 
at  last  appear  as  we  ought  before  the  world.  In  the  name 
of  all  that  is  sacred,  encourage  dear  father  now  that  he  is 
trying  to  be  what  we  have  so  often  wished." 

But  Mrs.  May  hew' s  pets  were  like  spells  of  bad  weather 
and  would  run  their  course.  She  only  looked  more  gloomy 
and  injured  than  ever  as  she  replied: 

4 'It's  all  very  well  to  talk.     Mr.  May  hew  must  be  encour- 
aged and  coaxed  to  do  what  any  man  ought  to  do.     I  might 
have  enjoyed  a  ride  this  evening  as  well  as  your  father." 
"You  said  it  was  too  warm  to  go  out  after  dinner." 
"Well,  you  might  have  waited  till  it  wasn't  too  warm." 
A  sudden  scarlet  burned  in  Ida's  cheeks,  and  there  came 
an  ominous  sparkle  in  her  eyes.     "Mother,"  she   said   so 
abruptly  and  sternly  that  the  lady  looked  up  wonderingly, 
and  encountered  an  expression  in  her  daughter's  face  that 


A    RESOLUTE    PHILOSOPHER  395 

awakened  an  undefined  fear.     In  tones  that  were  low,  indig- 
nant, and  authoritative,  Ida  continued: 

tlI  request — I  demand  that  you  cease  this  nonsense  at 
once.  As  a  Christian  woman  you  ought  to  be  on  your  knees 
thanking  God  that  your  husband  is  not  lying  intoxicated  on 
that  sofa,  as  he  was  last  Sunday  at  this  time.  You  ought 
to  be  thanking  God  that  he  is  becoming  his  former  self,  and 
winning  respect  by  acting  like  a  true  gentleman.  It  was 
our  unutterable  folly  that  was  destroying  him,  and  I  say 
this  folly  must  and  shall  cease.  I  will  not  permit  my  fa- 
ther's sensitive  nature  to  be  wounded  as  it  has  been.  You 
shall  not  spoil  this  first  bright  day  he  has  had  after  so  many 
years.  If  you  care  for  him  why  don't  you  try  to  win  his 
affection?  and  who  ever  heard  of  a  heart  being  won  by  whin- 
ing and  fault-finding?  But  of  this  be  sure,  you  shall  not 
spoil  this  day.  I  charge  you  as  a  wife  and  a  lady  to  cease 
this  childish  petulance,  and  come  down  at  once." 

41  Oh!"  said  Mrs.  May  hew,  rising  mechanically,  "if  you 
are  going  to  make  a  scene — " 

"I  am  going  to  prevent  scenes,"  said  Ida,  with  all  her 
old-time  imperiousness.  "I  insist  that  we  appear  in  the 
future  like  a  quiet,  well-bred  family,  and  I  warn  you  that 
I  will  permit  my  father  to  be  trifled  with  no  longer.  He 
shall  have  a  chance.  Wait,  let  me  help  you  make  a  more 
becoming  toilet  for  Sunday  evening." 

Ida  was  very  strongly  aroused,  and  the  superior  nature 
mastered  the  weaker.  Mrs.  Mayhew  became  as  wax  in  her 
hands,  although  she  made  many  natural  and  irritable  pro- 
tests against  her  daughter  speaking  to  her  as  she  had  done. 
Ida  paid  no  heed  to  her  mother's  words,  and  after  giving 
a  few  finishing  touches  to  her  dress  relieved  her  sternness 
by  a  judicious  compliment,  "I  wish  you  to  take  the  seat 
father  is  reserving  for  you,"  she  said,  "and  appear  the 
charming  lady  that  you  know  how  to  be  so  well;"  and 
without  further  parley  they  went  down  together. 

Once  in  the  social  eye  it  would  be  Mrs.  Mayhew's 
strongest   impulse   to   make   a   good   impression,    and   she 


396  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

behaved  beautifully.  Something  in  Ida's  manner  puzzled 
her  father,  but  she  smiled  so  reassuringly  that  he  gave  him- 
self up  to  the  quiet  enjoyment  of  the  situation  that  was  so 
natural  and  yet  so  novel.  He  listened  with  a  pleased  ex- 
pression to  the  music,  and  noted,  with  deep  satisfaction, 
the  friendly  and  respectful  bearing  of  those  near,  toward 
both  his  wife  and  himself;  but  he  exulted  in  the  evident 
admiration  that  his  daughter  excited.  The  people  at  the 
Lake  House  had  already  discovered  that  there  was  a  de- 
cided change  for  the  better  in  the  Mayhew  family,  and  they 
greeted  the  improvement  with  a  kindly  but  well-bred  and 
unobtrusive  welcome  that  was  creditable  to  human  nature. 
Of  course  there  was  a  great  deal  of  whispered  surmise,  but 
nothing  offensive  to  the  eye. 

Stanton  came  and  asked  Ida  to  join  in  the  singing  at  the 
piano,  but  she  shook  her  head  decidedly. 

" Who  has  been  hurting  your  feelings?"  he  asked,  in  a 
low  tone. 

By  a  scarcely  perceptible  gesture,  she  put  her  finger  on 
her  lips  and  said  quietly,  "They  are  waiting  for  you,  Cousin 
Ik."  Then  she  added,  with  a  smile,  "Somewhere  I've  heard 
a  proverb  expressing  surprise  that  Saul  should  be  among  the 
prophets.  I  hardly  think  it  will  be  in  good  taste  for  me  to 
appear  among  them  just  yet." 

"And  I  once  believed  her  to  be  a  fool,"  thought  Stanton 
as  he  returned  to  his  place. 

Again,  on  this  Sunday  evening,  keen  eyes  were  watching 
her  from  the  dusky  piazza,  but  so  far  from  being  wolfish 
and  ravenous,  they  were  full  of  sympathy  and  admiration. 

As  Van  Berg  approached  the  parlor  windows  after  his 
return,  he  saw  Stanton  standing  by  the  piano  at  Jennie  Bur- 
ton's side,  and  she  was  looking  up  to  him  and  speaking  in  a 
very  friendly  manner.  He  was  not  conscious  of  any  appro- 
priate pangs  of  jealousy,  and  indeed  did  not  miss  their  ab- 
sence, but  he  looked  eagerly  around  for  the  problem  his 
philosophical  mind  was  so  bent  on  solving. 

At  first  the  favorable  impression  made  by  the  reunited 


A    RESOLUTE    PHILOSOPHER 


397 


family  caught  his  attention,  and  he  muttered:  "This  is  some 
more  of  her  magic.  But  what  is  the  matter  with  Miss  May- 
hew  herself  ?  Her  eyes  are  burning  with  a  fire  that  is  any- 
thing but  tender  and  sacred,  and  there  are  moments  when 
her  face  is  almost  stern,  and  again  it  is  full  of  trouble." 

Some  one  discovered  him  on  the  piazza,  and  there  was  a 
general  wish  expressed  that  he  should  sing  with  Miss  Bur- 
ton a  duet  that  had  become  a  favorite.  After  this  and  one 
or  two  other  pieces,  he  again  sought  his  place  of  observa- 
tion. The  color  and  fire  had  now  wholly  faded  from  Miss 
Mayhew's  face,  and  she  looked  pale  and  sad.  Her  father 
turned  to  her,  and  said: 

11  Ida,  I  fear  you  don't  feel  well." 

"I'm  very  tired,  and  think  I  had  better  go  to  my  room." 
He  rose  instantly,  and  gave  her  his  arm,  but  on  the  way 
she  reassured  him:  "  A  night's  sleep,  and  the  rest  I  shall 
have  with  you  in  the  city,  are  just  what  I  need;  so  don't 
worry,  for  I  shall  be  ready  to  take  the  train  with  you  in  the 
morning;"    and  Mr.   May  hew  rejoined  his  wife,  and  com- 
pleted a  happier  day  than  he  ever  expected  to  see  again. 
But  poor  Ida,  when   left  alone,  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands  and  sobbed,  "I've  wounded  his  feelings,  I've  given 
way  to  my  old  passionate  anger,  I've  spoken  to  mother  as 
a  daughter  never  should.     What  will  ever  become  of  faulty 
Ida   Mayhew?      The   worm-eaten   emblem   is   true   of   me 

still." 

Then,  as  if  whispered  to  her  by  some  good  angel,  the 
words  Mr.  Eltinge  had  spoken  recurred  to  her.  'Your 
Saviour  will  be  as  tender  and  patient  with  you  as  a  mother 
with  her  baby  that  is  learning  to  walk." 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  in  a  low,  passionate  tone,  "that  is  the 

kind  of  a  God  I  need!" 

She  also  remembered  the  reassuring  words  that  Mr.  El- 
tinge had  quoted— "As  one  whom  his  mother  comforteth 
so  will  I  comfort  you,"   and  the  promise  was  made  good 

to  her. 

"Stanton,"  said  Van  Berg,  a  little  abruptly,  before  they 


898  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

parted  that  evening,  ltI  fear,  from  your  cousin's  appearance, 
she  was  ill  when  she  left  the  parlor. ' ' 

"I've  given  up  trying  to  understand  Ida.  When  she 
came  down  with  her  mother,  she  looked  like  an  incensed 
goddess,  and  when  she  returned  she  reminded  me  of  the 
fading  white  lily  she  wore  in  her  hair.  I  give  it  up,"  con- 
cluded Stanton,  whose  language  had  become  a  trifle  figura- 
tive and  poetic  of  late. 

"I  don't,"  muttered  the  artist,  after  smoking  the  third 
consecutive  cigar  in  solitude. 


THE    CONCERT    GARDEN   AGAIN 


399 


CHAPTER   XLVII 

THE  CONCERT  GARDEN  AGAIN 

VAN  BERG  had  scarcely  ever  known  a  day  to  pass 
more  slowly  and  heavily  than  Monday.  He  had 
taken  pains  to  be  present  at  Ida's  departure  with 
her  father,  and  it  had  depressed  him  unaccountably  that 
she  had  been  so  quiet  as  to  seem  even  a  little  cold  in  her 
farewell.  She  would  not  look  toward  him,  nor  could  he 
catch  her  eye  or  obtain  one  friendly  expression.  He  did 
not  know  that  the  poor  girl  dared  not  smile  or  speak  lest 
she  should  be  too  friendly,  and  that  she  avoided  him  with 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation.  His  conclusion  was;  "She 
finds,  after  thinking  it  all  over,  that  she  has  far  more  to 
forgive  than  she  thought,  and  my  presence  reminds  her  of 
everything  she  would  be  glad  to  forget." 

He  tried  once  or  twice  to  find  Jennie  Burton,  but  did 
not  succeed.  She  made  no  apparent  effort  to  avoid  him, 
and  was  so  cordial  in  her  manner  when  they  met  that  he 
had  severe  compunctions  that  he  did  not  seek  her  society 
resolutely  and  press  his  suit  "The  summer  is  drawing  to 
a  close,"  he  muttered,  "and  nothing  is  settled.  Confound 
it  all!  I'm  the  least  settled  of  anything.  The  best  chance 
I  shall  ever  have  is  passing  swiftly.  Every  faculty  I  pos- 
sess assures  me  that  she  is  the  one  woman  of  all  the  world. 
I  honor  her,  1  reverence  her,  I  admire  her  and  everything 
she  does  and  says.  I  trust  her  implicitly,  even  though  she 
is  so  shrouded  in  mystery.  What  the  mischief  is  the  mat- 
ter with  my  old  water- logged  heart  that  it  should  be  so 
heavy  and  dumpish?" 


400  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

But  so  it  was.  Jennie  Burton  smiled  on  him  and  others 
as  brightly  as  ever,  and  yet  he  knew  her  heart  was  break- 
ing, for  she  was  growing  slighter  and  more  spirit- like  daily. 
His  desire  to  comfort  her,  however,  by  a  life-long  effort 
ebbed  away,  till  he  was  cursing  himself  for  a  fickle,  cold- 
blooded wretch.  tlI  had  better  shut  myself  up  in  my 
studio,"  he  said  to  himself.  "I  may  make  a  painter,  but 
I  never  will  anything  else;"  and  early  on  Tuesday  he  went 
doggedly  to  work  on  Mr.  Eltinge's  picture. 

His  perplexed  and  jarring  thoughts  gradually  ceased 
their  discord  as  he  became  absorbed  in  his  loved  and 
familiar  tasks.  Sweet  and  low  at  first,  and  in  the  faint, 
broken  suggestion  of  his  kindling  fancy,  the  symphonic 
poem  he  had  heard  in  the  garden  began  again,  but  at  last 
his  imagination  made  it  almost  real.  He  listened  once 
more  to  Ida's  girlish,  plaintive  voice  blending  with  the 
murmur  of  the  brook,  the  sighing  wind  and  rustling  leaves, 
and  the  occasional  trill  of  a  bird.  He  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  and  his  eyes  became  full  of  deep  and  dreamy  pleas- 
ure. Gradually  a  heavy  frown  contracted  his  brow,  and 
his  face  grew  white  and  stern  as  he  repeated  words  that 
she  once  had  spoken  to  him:  "I  meant  to  compel  your  re- 
spect, and  I  thought  there  was  no  other  way." 

4 'Pharisee,  fool  that  I  was!  If  I  had  been  kind  and 
trustful  at  the  time  her  family  so  wronged  her,  she  would 
not  now  shrink  from  me  as  if  1  summed  up  in  my  person 
the  whole  of  that  wretched  experience.  Even  Stanton  ap- 
preciated my  unutterable  folly,  for  he  said:  'You  looked 
at  her  in  a  way  that  would  have  frozen  even  Jezebel  her- 
self,' and  now  whenever  I  glance  toward  her  she  is  re- 
minded of  that  accursed  stare.  Would  it  be  possible,  in 
painting  her  likeness  for  Mr.  Eltinge,  to  make  her  face  so 
noble,  womanly,  and  pure,  that  she  would  recognize  my 
present  estimate  of  her  character,  and  so  forgive  me  in 
very  truth?" 

The  care  and  earnestness  with  which  he  filled  in  the  out° 
lines  of  his  sketch  proved  how  zealously  he  would  make  the 


THE   CONCERT   GARDEN   AGAIN  401 

effort  In  the  afternoon  lie  drove  over  to  the  garden  again, 
and  made  a  careful  drawing  of  the  tree  and  of  Mr.  Eltinge 
sitting  beneath  it,  for  Ida,  and  he  determined  to  go  to  the 
city  the  following  day  that  he  might  avail  himself  of  the  re- 
sources of  his  studio,  and  by  the  aid  of  this  hasty- sketch 
make  as  fine  a  crayon  picture  as  would  be  possible,  before 
the  return  on  Saturday. 

The  old  gentleman's  heart  was  naturally  warm  toward  his 
protegee,  whom  they  both  missed  greatly,  and  he  spoke  of 
her  often.  He  could  not  help  noticing  that  the  artist  was 
ever  an  excellent  listener  at  such  times  and  would  even  sus- 
pend his  work  for  a  moment  that  he  might  not  lose  a  word. 
14  It  seems  to  me  he  takes  a  wonderful  deal  of  interest  in  her 
for  a  man  who  is  seeking  to  engage  himself  to  another  lady,'1 
mused  Mr.  Eltinge.  kii  think  the  other  lady  had  better  be 
looking  after  him." 

As  Van  Berg  approached  the  hotel,  he  saw  Miss  Burton 
mounting  the  steps  with  a  quantity  of  ferns  in  her  hands. 
She  evidently  was  returning  from  a  long  ramble,  and  when 
she  came  down  to  supper  he  saw  that  she  had  not  been  able 
to  remove  wholly  all  traces  of  grief.  His  conscience  smote 
him  sorely.  He  hesitated  in  his  purpose  of  going  to  the 
city,  and  determined  to  speak  of  it  frankly,  and  abandon 
it,  if  she  showed,  even  by  the  expression  of  her  face,  that 
she  would  prefer  he  would  remain,  but  he  found  himself 
both  surprised  and  relieved  that,  so  far  from  manifesting 
the  least  reluctance  to  have  him  go,  she  encouraged  the 

plan. 

41  You  have  a  noble  theme,"  she  said  cordially,  44and  you 
can't  do  it  justice  in  the  room  of  a  summer  hotel.  Besides, 
1  do  think  you  owe  it  to  Miss  Mayhew  to  make  all  the 
amends  in  your  power,  and  a  fine  picture  of  that  emblem- 
atic tree,  and  her  kind  old  friend  beneath  it,  may  be  of  very 
great  help  to  her  in  her  new  life.  I  hope  you  will  take  me 
to  see  Mr.  Eltinge  on  your  return." 

"I'll  wait  over  a  day  and  take  you  there  to-morrow,"  he 
said  promptly. 


402  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"No,"  she  replied  decisively;  "you  have  not  enough 
time  as  it  is,  before  Saturday,  to  do  justice  to  your  work, 
and  I  want  you  to  make  Miss  May  hew 's  friend  look  as  if  he 
were  speaking  to  her." 

"Miss  Jennie,"  said  the  artist  rather  impulsively,  "you 
haven't  a  drop  of  selfish  blood  in  your  little  body." 

"I  am  under  the  impression  that  Mr.  Van  Berg's  esti- 
mates of  his  lady  acquaintances  are  not  always  correct. 
Not  that  I  was  any  wiser,  but  then  such  positive  assertions 
seem  hardly  the  thing  from  people  who  have  shown  them- 
selves so  fallible." 

"I'm  right  for  once,"  Van  Berg  insisted.  "Do you  know 
that  Miss  Mayhew  and  I  nearly  had  a  falling  out.  Indeed 
she  has  been  rather  cool  toward  me  ever  since,  and  you  were 
the  cause.  I  believed  with  absolute  certainty  that  the  new 
Ida  Mayhew  that  I  had  learned  to  know  in  Mr.  Eltinge's 
garden  would  gravitate  toward  you  as  surely  as  two  drops 
of  dew  run  together  when  brought  sufficiently  near,  and  I 
began  to  speak  quite  enthusiastically  of  what  friends  you 
would  surely  become,  when  Miss  Mayhew's  manner  taught 
me  I  had  better  change  the  subject.  Oddly  enough,  she 
has  never  liked  you,  and  yet,  in  justice  to  her,  I  must  add 
that  she  acted  conscientiously,  and  I  have  never  heard 
one  lady  speak  of  another  more  favorably  and  sincerely 
than  she  spoke  of  you,  though  it  seemingly  cost  her  an 
effort." 

A  sudden  moisture  came  into  Jennie  Burton's  eyes,  and 
sne  said  under  her  breath:  "Poor  child!  that  was  noble  and 
generous  in  her  to  speak  so  of  me.  Oh,  how  blind  he  is!" 
But  with  mock  gravity  she  answered  him: 

"Your  rather  sentimental  figure  of  speech,  Mr.  Van 
Berg,  shows  where  your  error  lies.  Miss  Mayhew  and 
myself  are  not  pellucid  drops  of  dew  that  you  can  look 
through  at  a  glance.  We  are  women;  and  the  one  thing 
in  this  world  which  men  never  will  learn  to  understand  is 
a  woman.  I'm  going  to  puzzle  you  still  further.  I  am 
learning  to  have  a  very  thorough  respect  for  Miss  Mayhew. 


THE   CONCERT   GARDEN    AGAIN  *)3 

I  am  beginning  to  admire  her  exceedingly,  and  to  think 
that  she  is  growing  exquisitely  beautiful;  and  yet  were  she 
here  this  week  you  would  find  that  I  would  not  seek  her  so- 
ciety. Give  your  mind  to  your  art,  and  never  hope  to  un- 
tangle the  snarl  of  a  woman's  mind.  Men,  in  attempting 
such  folly,  have  become  hopelessly  entangled.  Take  a 
woman's  word  for  it — what  you  can't  see  you  can't  reason 
out.  I've  no  doubt  but  that  Miss  May  hew  has  excellent 
reasons  for  disliking  me,  and  the  fact  that  you  can't  un- 
derstand them  is  nothing  against  them." 

"Miss  Jennie,"  said  Van  Berg  resolutely,  "for  once  I 
cannot  take  your  word  for  it.  You  two  ladies  have  puz- 
zled me  all  summer,  and  I'll  never  be  content  till  I  solve 
the  mysteries  which  so  baffle  me.  My  interest  is  not  curi- 
osity, but  friendship,  to  say  the  least,  that  I  hope  will  last 
through  life.  You  will  tell  me  some  day  all  your  trouble, 
and  you  will  feel  the  better  for  telling  me." 

She  became  very  pale  at  these  words,  and  said  gravely: 
"I  cannot  promise  that— I  doubt  it.  You  may  have  to 
trust  me  blindly  till  you  forget  me." 

"I  do  not  trust  you  blindly,  I  never  will  forget  you," 
he  began,  impetuously. 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  she  said,  and  in  a  moment 
he  was  alone  on  the  piazza. 

"She  is  an  angel  of  light,"  he  muttered,  "and  not  a  wo- 
man. I  could  worship  her,  but  I'm  too  earthy  in  my  nature 
to  love  her  as  I  ought." 

He  took  the  earliest  train  to  New  York,  and  so  had  a 
long  afternoon  in  his  studio.  He  was  surprised  to  find  how 
absorbed  he  soon  became  in  his  work.  "Miss  Jennie  is 
right,"  he  thought;  "I'm  an  artist,  and  not  a  reformer  or 
a  metaphysician,  and  I  had  better  spend  my  time  here  than 
in  trying  to  solve  feminine  enigmas;"  and  he  worked  Hke 
a  beaver  until  the  fading  light  compelled  him  to  desist. 
"There,"  he  said,  "that  is  a  fair  beginning.  Two  or  three 
more  days  of  work  like  this  will  secure  me,  I  think,  a  friend- 
lier glance  than  Miss  Ida  gave  me  last. ' '    From  which  words 


404  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

it  might  be  gathered  that  he  was  thinking  of  other  rewards 
than  mere  success  in  his  art. 

la  the  evening  the  wand  of  Theodore  Thomas  had  a  spell 
which  he  never  thought  of  resisting,  and  it  must  be  admitted 
that  there  lurked  in  his  mind  the  hope  that  Ida  and  her  father 
might  be  drawn  to  the  concert  garden  also.  If  so,  he  was  sure 
he  would  pursue  his  investigations. 

He  was  rewarded,  for  Mr.  Mayhew  and  his  daughter  soon 
entered  and  took  seats  in  the  main  lobby,  where  he  and  Stan- 
ton had  sat  nearly  three  months  before.  Van  Berg  congratu- 
lated himself  that  he  was  outside  in  the  promenade,  and  so 
had  not  been  observed;  and  he  sought  a  dusky  seat  from 
which  he  might  seek  some  further  knowledge  of  a  character 
that  had  won  and  retained  a  deepening  interest  from  the 
time  of  their  first  meeting,  which  now  seemed  an  age  ago. 
Events  mark  time  more  truthfully  than  the  course  of  the 
sun. 

At  first  she  seemed  only  solicitous  about  her  father, 
who  lighted  a  cigar  and  said  something  to  her  that  must 
have  been  very  reassuring  and  pleasant,  fei  a  glad  smile 
broke  over  her  pale  face.  But  it  vanishea  quickly,  and 
the  artist  saw  that  her  habitual  expression  was  sad,  and 
even  dejected.  She  did  not  look  around  with  the  breezy 
alertness  natural  to  a  young  girl  in  such  a  place.  The  curi- 
ously diverse  people  around  her  excited  no  interest,  and  she 
appeared  inclined  to  lapse  into  deep  reveries,  even  when  the 
music  was  light  and  gay,  as  was  the  character  of  the  earlier 
part  of  the  entertainment.  At  times  she  would  start  per- 
ceptibly  when  her  father  spoke  to  her,  and  hesitate  in  her 
answer,  as  if  she  had  to  recall  her  thoughts  from  far-off  wan- 
derings. It  would  seem  that  Mr.  Mayhew  was  troubled  by 
her  sad  face  and  absent  manner.  He  justly  felt  that  the 
brilliant  music  ought  to  enliven  her  like  sunlight;  and  that 
it  did  not  proved  the  presence  of  some  intervening  cloud. 

Van  Berg's  sympathies  and  interests  at  last  became  so 
strong  that  he  determined  to  speak  to  her  at  once,  but  be- 
fore he  could  take  a  step  toward  her  the  orchestra  began 


THE   CONCERT   GARDEN    AGAIN  405 

playing  Beethoven's  Fifth  Symphony,  the  very  music  she 
ignored  for  the  sake  of  Mr.  Minty's  compliments  when  first 
she  had  so  exasperated  him  by  her  marvellously  perfect  fea- 
tures, but  disagreeable  face.  He  had  not  looked  at  the  pro- 
gramme, and  that  this  symphony  should  now  be  repeated 
seemed  such  a  fortunate  coincidence  that  he  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  of  contrasting  the  woman  before  him  with 
the  silly  and  undeveloped  girl  he  first  had  seen.  More- 
over, he  knew  that  the  music  must  remind  her  of  him,  and 
he  might  gain  a  hint  of  her  present  feelings  toward  him. 
Either  the  beauty  or  something  familiar  in  the  exquisite 
strains  soon  caught  her  attention,  and  she  took  up  her  pro- 
gramme, which  hitherto  had  lain  neglected  on  her  lap.  She 
crimsoned  instantly,  and  her  brow  contracted  into  a  frown; 
a  moment  later  an  expression  of  intense  disgust  passed  over 
her  face. 

11  Now  I  know  what  she  thinks  of  me,"  he  thought,  with 
a  sinking  heart.  "I  doubt  whether  I  had  better  speak  to 
her  this  evening,  and  at  this  place." 

"What's  the  matter,  Ida?"  asked  her  father.  "Don't 
you  like  the  music?" 

"I  have  disagreeable  associations  connected  with  it.  The 
fault  is  wholly  in  me,  and  not  the  music." 

"Ida,  darling,  you  are  making  me  so  happy  that  I  wish 
I  could  do  as  much  for  you." 

"Don't  worry,  father,"  she  said,  trying  to  smile.  "I'm 
happier  than  I  deserve.     Listen!" 

As  the  last  exquisite  cadences  died  away,  Van  Berg  saw 
that  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  What  did  they  mean? 
4 'Stanton  repeated  my  harsh  words  and  she  recalls  them," 
was  the  best  explanation  he  could  think  of.  "By  the  fates!" 
he  exclaimed,  "if  there  isn't  Sibley  with  a  toilet  as  spotless 
as  he  is  himself  smirched  and  blackened.  Curse  him!  he 
actually  has  the  impudence  to  speak  to  Miss  May  hew,"  and 
the  artist  started  up  threateningly,  but  before  discovering 
himself,  he  remembered  that  Ida's  natural  protector  was  at 
her  side.    And  yet  he  fairly  trembled  with  rage  and  protest, 


*06  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

that  this  fellow  should  be  so  near  her  again.  He  also  saw 
that  Mr.  Mayhew  rose  and  looked  very  menacing.  But  Ida 
was  equal  to  the  emergency,  and  extricated  herself  with 
womanly  dignity,  for  while  she  blushed  scarlet  with  shame, 
she  was  quiet  and  self-possessed,  and  paid  no  heed  to  his 
eagerly  proffered  hand. 

44I  was  not  myself  that  hateful  day,  Miss  Ida,"  he  said 
hastily. 

"I  fear  you  were,  sir,"  she  coldly  replied.  "  At  any  rate, 
I  am  not  my  old  self,  and  until  you  win  and  maintain  the 
character  of  a  gentleman,  we  must  be  strangers.  Good 
evening,  sir;"  and  she  turned  her  back  upon  him. 

His  face  became  fairly  livid  with  rage,  but  on  encounter- 
ing the  stern  and  threatening  eyes  of  Mr.  Mayhew  he  slunk 
away  and  left  the  building. 

"That's  my  peerless,  noble  Ida,"  whispered  her  father. 
44  Oh,  thank  God  I  thank  God  I  I  could  not  have  survived 
if  you  had  realized  the  fears  I  once  had  about  that  low 
scoundrel." 

Ida's  lip  quivered  as  she  said:  " Father,  please  take  me 
home.  I  don't  enjoy  myself  here."  They  had  taken  but 
few  steps  toward  the  door  when  the  artist  confronted  them 
with  eyes  aglow  with  admiration  and  sympathy. 

Poor  Ida  had  no  time  to  mask  her  feelings  or  check  her 
impulses,  and  she  took  his  extended  hand  as  if  she  were 
sinking,  while  the  color  and  light  of  welcome  flashed 
brightly  into  her  face.  Then  her  beautiful  confusion  sug- 
gested that  she  felt  her  greeting  had  been  too  cordial,  and 
she  sought  with  indifferent  success  to  regain  her  dignity. 

44 Please  don't  go  just  yet, ' '  said  Van  Berg  eagerly.  44The 
concert  is  but  half  over,  and  there  are  some  pretty  things 
still  to  come." 

Ida  hesitated  and  looked  doubtfully  at  her  father. 

*4I  shall  be  very  glad  to  stay,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  "if 
you  feel  able  to.  My  daughter  is  not  very  well,  I  fear,"  ho 
added  in  explanation  to  the  artist. 

44 Perhaps  it  has  been  a  little  close  here  in  the  lobby," 


THE   CONCERT   GARDEN    AGAIN  407 

suggested  Van  Berg,  "and  a  walk  in  the  open  air  will  be 
agreeable.  If  you  will  trust  your  daughter  to  me,  sir,  I 
promise  to  bring  her  back  before  she  is  tired.  I  have  much 
to  tell  her  about  her  old  friend,  Mr.  Eltinge,  whom  I  visited 
yesterday,  and  the  pictures.  Perhaps  you  will  go  with  us, 
for  I  know  what  I  have  to  say  will  interest  you  also." 

"I  think  I'll  light  another  cigar  and  wait  for  you  here," 
Mr.  May  hew  answered  quietly.  "Old  people  like  to  sit  still 
after  their  day's  work,  and  if  Ida  feels  strong  enough  I  would 
enjoy  hearing  the  rest  of  the  concert." 

"It  would  be  hard  to  resist  the  temptation  to  hear  any- 
thing about  dear  old  Mr.  Eltinge,"  said  Ida,  taking  the 
artist's  arm,  and  feeling  as  if  she  were  being  swept  away 
on  a  shining  tide. 

"You  were  glad  to  see  me,  Miss  Mayhew,  and  you  can't 
deny  it,"  Van  Berg  began  exultantly. 

"You  almost  crushed  my  hand,  and  it  aches  still,"  was 

her  demure  reply. 

"Well,  that  was  surely  the  wound  of  a  friend." 

"You  are  very  good  to  speak  to  me  at  all,  after  all  that's 
happened,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone  and  with  downcast  face. 

"What  a  strange  coincidence!  That  is  exactly  what  I 
was  thinking  of  you.  I  almost  feared  you  would  treat  me 
as  you  did  Sibley.  How  much  good  it  did  me  to  see  him 
slinking  away  like  a  whipped  cur!  I  never  realized  before 
how  perfectly  helpless  even  brazen  villany  is  in  the  pres- 
ence of  womanly  dignity." 

"Why,  were  you  present  then  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  quick 

blush. 

"Not  exactly  present,  but  I  saw  your  face  and  his,  and 
a  stronger  contrast  I  scarcely  expect  to  see  again." 

"You   artists    look    at    everything    and    everybody   as 

pictures. 

"Now,  Miss  Mayhew,  you  are  growing  severe  again.  I 
don't  carry  the  shop  quite  as  far  as  that,  and  I  have  not 
been  looking  at  you  as  a  picture  at  all  this  evening.  I  shall 
make  known  the  whole  enormity  of  my  offence,  and  then  if 


408  A    FACE  ILLUMINED 

I  must  follow  Sibley,  I  must,  but  I  shall  carry  with  me 
a  little  shred  of  your  respect  for  telling  the  truth.  I  had 
a  faint  hope  that  you  and  your  father  would  come  to-night, 
and  I  was  looking  for  you,  and  when  you  came  I  watched 
you.  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  comparing  the 
Miss  Mayhew  I  now  so  highly  esteem  and  respect,  with 
the  lady  I  first  met  at  this  place." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Van  Berg,"  said  Ida,  in  a  low,  hurt  tone,  "I 
don't  think  that  was  fair  to  me,  or  right." 

"I  am  confessing  and  not  excusing  myself,  Miss  May- 
hew.  I  once  very  justly  appeared  to  you  like  a  prig,  and 
now  I  fear  I  shall  seem  a  spy;  but  after  our  visit  to  that  old 
garden  together,  and  your  frankness  to  me,  I  feel  under 
bonds  to  tell  the  whole  truth.  You  said  we  were  fated  to 
misunderstand  each  other.  I  think  not,  for  if  you  ever 
permit  me  to  be  your  friend  I  shall  be  the  frankest  one  you 
ever  had;"  at  these  words  he  felt  her  hand  trembling  on  his 
arm,  and  she  would  not  look  up  nor  make  any  reply. 

"Well,"  said  he,  desperately,  "I  expect  Sibley's  fate 
will  soon  be  mine.  I  suppose  it  was  a  mean  thing  to  watch 
you,  but  it  would  seem  a  meaner  thing  to  me  not  to  tell  you. 
I  was  about  to  speak  to  you,  Miss  Mayhew,  when  by  another 
odd  coincidence  the  orchestra  commenced  playing  music 
that  I  knew  would  remind  you  of  me.  I  was  gaining  the 
impression  before  you  left  the  country  that  as  you  came  to 
think  the  past  all  over,  you  had  found  that  there  was  more 
against  me  than  you  could  forgive,  or  else  that  I  was  so 
inseparably  associated  with  that  which  was  painful  that  you 
would  be  glad  to  forget  the  one  with  the  other.  I  must  ad- 
mit that  this  impression  was  greatly  strengthened  by  the 
expression  of  your  face,  and  I  almost  decided  to  leave 
the  place  without  speaking  to  you.  But  I  found  I  could 
not,  and— well,  you  know  I  did  not.  You  see  I'm  at  your 
mercy  again." 

Ida  was  greatly  relieved,  for  she  now  learned  that  he  had 
discovered  nothing  in  his  favor,  and  that  she  was  still  mis- 
tress of  the  situation. 


TEE    CONCERT    GARDEN    AGAIN 


409 


"I  do  not  think  you  are  very  penitent;  I  fear  you  would 
do  the  same  thing  over  again,"  she  said. 

"Indeed,  Miss  Mayhew,  when  I  first  met  you  here  I 
thought  I  would  always  do  the  right  and  proper  thing, 
and  °I  fear  I  thought  some  things  right  because  I  did 
them.  I've  lived  a  hundred  years  since  that  time,  and  am 
beginning  to  find  myself  out.  Didn't  you  think  me  the 
veriest   prig   that  ever  smiled   in   a   superior  way   at  the 

world?" 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  give  you  my  opinion,"  she  replied, 
averting  her  face  to  hide  a  blush  and  laugh. 

"No  need.  I  saw  your  opinion  in  your  face  when  you 
looked  down  at  your  programme  half  an  hour  since." 

"You  are  mistaken;  I  was  thinking  of  myself  at  that 
moment,  for  I  could  not  help  remembering  what  a  fool 
I  must  have  appeared  to  you  on  that  occasion." 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "Miss  Burton  was  right," 
he  ejaculated,  "I  never  shall  understand  you." 

"Was  she  talking  about  me  ?"  asked  Ida,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Yes,  and  she  spoke  of  you  in  the  most  complimentary 
way,  as  you  did  of  her.  Why  the  mischief  you  two  ladies 
do  not  become  the  warmest  friends  is  beyond  me.  Sit  down 
here  a  little  while,  Miss  Mayhew,  for  you  are  growing  tired;" 
and  she  was  very  glad  to  comply. 

As  she  made  no  effort  to  continue  the  conversation  he 
resumed:   "You   haven't  told  me  what  my  punishment  is 

to  be." 

"Are  you  so  anxious  to  be  punished  ?"  she  asked,  look- 
ing up  shyly  at  him. 

"Well,  my  conscience  troubles  me  greatly,  and  I  feel  I 
ought  to  do  something  for  you  in  the  way  of  expiation." 

"And  so  I  gather  that  anything  done  for  me  would  be 
such  severe  penance  that  your  conscience  would  be  ap- 
peased." 

"Now,  Miss  Mayhew,"  he  replied,  looking  earnestly  into 
her  face,  "tell  me  truly,  do  you  gather  any  such  impression 

from  my  words  and  manner  ?" 

18— Roe— XII 


410  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

But  she  kept  her  eyes  resolutely  on  the  ground,  and  said 
demurely:  "Such  was  the  obvious  meaning  of  your  words." 

"Do  you  know  why  I  am  in  the  city  ?n  he  asked  after  a 
moment. 

"I  have  not  presumed  to  think  why. " 

"Perhaps  I  can  make  a  little  inroad  in  your  indifference 
when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  spent  several  hours  in  my  studio 
working  on  your  picture,  and  that  I  intend  to  work  the  re- 
mainder of  the  week  so  as  to  have  it  ready  for  you  Saturday 
evening." 

She  looked  up  now  with  a  face  radiant  with  surprise  and 
pleasure:  "Oh,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  did  not  dream  of  your  tak- 
ing so  much  trouble  for  me." 

"That's  a  small  payment  on  an  old  debt.  What  can  I  do 
for  you  while  1  am  in  the  city,  to  atone  for  my  rudeness  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  hesitatingly  and  wistfully  a  moment. 

"I  know  you  wish  something,  but  fear  to  ask  it,"  he 
said,  gently,  "and  I'm  sorry  to  remember  I've  done  so  little 
to  inspire  your  confidence." 

44 Mr.  Van  Berg,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  looking  ear- 
nestly at  him  while  she  spoke,  so  as  to  learn  from  his  ex- 
pression how  he  received  her  request.  "Your  kindness  does 
tempt  me  to  ask  a  favor.  Please  remember  I'm  acting  from 
an  impulse  caused  by  this  unexpected  talk  we  are  having, 
and  pardon  me  if  I  overstep  the  bounds  of  reserve  or  sug- 
gest a  task  that  you  might  very  naturally  shrink  from  as 
disagreeable. ' ' 

"I  pledge  you  my  word  at  once  to  do  what  you  wish." 

"No,  don't  do  that.  Wait  till  you  hear  all.  If  when  it 
comes  easily  and  naturally  in  your  way  you  will  do  a  little 
toward  helping  me  keep  father  the  man  he  can  be,  and  is 
trying  to  be,  my  gratitude  will  be  deeper  than  you  can 
•understand.  I  am  studying  him  very  carefully,  and  I  find 
that  any  encouraging  recognition  from  those  who  have 
known  his  past  has  great  weight  with  him.  At  the  same 
time  it  must  be  very  unobtrusive  and  come  as  a  matter  of 
course  as  it  were.     You  gave  him  your  society  one  Sunday 


THE    CONCERT    GARDEN    AGAIN  411 

morning  last  June  in  a  way  that  did  him  a  great  deal  of 
good,  and  if  I  had  only  seconded  your  efforts  then,  every- 
thing might  have  been  different.  I  can  never  remember 
that  day  without  a  blush  of  shame.  I  can't  help  the  past, 
but  my  whole  soul  is  now  bent  on  making  amends  to  father. 
I  fear,  however,  my  deep  solicitude  has  led  me  to  ask  more 
than  good  taste  can  sanction." 

11  Miss  May  hew,"  said  the  artist,  eagerly,  "this  is  one  of 
the  best  moments  of  my  life.  You  could  not  have  made 
such  a  request  unless  you  trusted  me,  unless  you  had  fully 
forgiven  me  all  the  wrong  I  have  done  you.  I  doubted  if 
I  could  ever  win  your  friendship,  but  I  think  I  can  claim 
a  friend's  place  already  in  your  esteem,  since  you  are  will- 
ing to  let  me  share  in  so  sacred  a  duty.  I  renew  my  pledge 
with  double  emphasis." 

He  never  forgot  the  smile  with  which  she  rewarded  him, 
as  she  said,  in  a  low  tone:  "That's  better  than  I  thought. 
You  are  very  kind  to  me.     But  I'm  staying  too  long  from 

father." 

"We'll  understand  each  other  eventually,"  he  said, 
gently.  "Now  I  know  why  tears  were  in  your  eyes  before 
the  symphony  was  over." 

"No,  you  don't,"  she  whispered  to  herself. 

As  they  took  their  seats  by  Mr.  Mayhew  he  remarked 
with  a  smile:  "Mr.  Van  Berg  must  have  had  a  long  budget 
of  news  from  your  good  old  friend." 

Ida  looked  at  the  artist  in  dismay,  and  was  still  more 
embarrassed  as  she  saw  a  sudden  flash  of  mirth  and  exulta- 
tion in  his  eyes.  But  he  turned  to  Mr.  Mayhew  and  re- 
plied, promptly:  "Two  pictures  are  growing  out  of  my 
visits  to  Mr.  Eltinge  and  his  garden.  The  one  that  is  for 
Mr.  Eltinge  contains  a  portrait  of  Miss  Mayhew  as  I  saw 
her  reading  to  him.  I  wish  you  and  your  daughter  would 
visit  my  studio  to-morrow  and  see  the  sketches,  and  if  Miss 
Mayhew  would  give  me  one  or  two  sittings,  I  could  make 
a  much  better  picture  for  Mr.  Eltinge  than  now  is  possible, 
and  I'm  anxious  to  do  the  very  best  I  can  for  him." 


412  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

"I  would  be  very  glad  to  come,"  said  Mr.  May  hew,  and 
his  pleased  expression  confirmed  his  words.  "Will  a  visit 
before  I  go  down  town  be  too  early  ?" 

1 '  Not  at  all.     I  am  always  at  work  early. ' ' 

"Well,  Ida,  does  Mr.  Eltinge  miss  your  visits  very 
much?     It's  selfish  in  me  to  let  you  stay  in  the  city." 

"He  does  indeed,  sir,"  said  the  artist,  answering  for  her. 
"He  talked  to  me  continually  about  her  yesterday,  although 
I  can't  say  I  tried  to  change  the  subject." 

"Father,  Mr.  Van  Berg  shall  not  shield  my  shortcom- 
ings," said  Ida,  with  crimson  cheeks.  "I  forgot  to  ask 
about  Mr.  Eltinge.  To  tell  the  truth,  we  were  talking  of 
old  times.  I  met  Mr.  Van  Berg  here  last  June  and  I  made 
a  very  bad  impression  on  him. ' ' 

"And  I  at  the  same  time  made  a  worse  impression  on 
Miss  Mayhew,"  added  the  artist. 

"Well,"  said  her  father,  with  a  doubtful  smile  and  a 
puzzled  glance  from  one  to  the  other,  "one  almost  might 
be  tempted  to  believe  that  you  had  been  revising  your 
impressions." 

"Mine  has  not  been  revised,  but  changed  altogether," 
said  Van  Berg,  decisively. 

"Come,  father,  let  us  go  at  once  lest  Mr.  Van  Berg's 
impressions  change  again,"  and  her  mirthful  glance  as  she 
gave  him  her  hand  in  parting  revealed  a  new  element  in  her 
character.  She  was  not  developing  the  cloying  sweetness 
of  honey. 


IDA'S    TEMPTATION  413 


CHAPTEK  XL VIII 

IDA'S     TEMPTATION 

IF  Van  Berg  had  given  as  much  thought  to  himself  that 
evening  as  he  did  to  Ida  May  hew  he  might  have  discov- 
ered some  rather  odd  phenomena  in  his  varying  mental 
states.    Earlier  in  the  summer  he  had  been  a  very  deliberate 
and  conscientious  wooer.     He  had  leisurely  taken  counsel 
of  his  reason,  judgment,  and  good  taste;  he  mentally  con- 
sulted his  parents,  and  satisfied  himself  that  Miss  Burton 
would  have  peculiar  charms  for  them,  and  so  it  had  come 
to  seem  almost  a  duty  as  well  as  a  privilege  to  seek  that 
young  lady's  hand.     The  sagacity  and  nice  appreciation  of 
character  on  which  he  had  so  greatly  prided  himself  led  to 
the  belief  that  fortune  in  giving  him  a  chance  to  win  such 
a  maiden  had  been  very  kind.     That  his  pulse  was  so  even 
and  his  heart  had  so  little  to  say  in  the  matter  was  only  a 
proof  that  he  did  not  possess  an  unbalanced  headlong  nature 
like  that  of  Stanton,  who  had  soon  become  wholly  mastered 
by  his  passion.     He  had  at  one  time  reasoned  it  all  out  to 
his  satisfaction,  and  believed  he  was  paying  his  suit  to  the 
woman  he  would  make  his  wife  in  an  eminently  proper  way. 
But  now  that  he  was  merely  trying  to  obtain  a  young  girl's 
friendship,  the  cool  and  masterful  poise  which  he  had  then 
been  able  to  maintain,  was  apparently  deserting  him.     He 
might  have  asked  himself  if  he  ever  remembered  being  such 
an  enthusiastic  friend  before.     He  might  have  considered 
how  often  he  had  kept  awake  and  counted  the  hours  till 
he  should  meet  a  friend  from  whom  he  had  but  just  parted. 
That  these  obvious  thoughts  and  contrasts  did  not  occur  to 


414  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

him  only  proved  that  he  was  smitten  already  by  that  blind- 
ness which  a  certain  spiritual  malady  usually  occasions  in 
its  earlier  stages. 

As  for  poor  Ida,  she  still  felt  that  her  little  boat  was 
being  carried  forward  by  a  shining  tide — whither  she  dared 
not  think.  She  had  come  to  the  city  to  escape  from  the 
artist,  and  as  a  result  she  might  spend  long  hours  alone 
with  him  in  his  studio  and  see  far  more  of  him  than  if  she 
had  remained  in  the  country.  She  had  not  sought  it — she 
had  not  even  dared  to  hope  or  dream  of  such  a  thing;  but 
now  that  this  exquisite  cup  of  pleasure  had  been  pressed 
to  her  very  lips  by  other  hands  she  could  not  refuse  it. 

Her  father  had  watched  her  keenly  but  furtively  since 
she  had  been  his  companion,  and  until  the  artist  had 
accosted  her  the  evening  before  had  not  been  able  to 
understand  the  depression  which  she  could  not  disguise 
wholly  from  him;  but  the  light  and  welcome  that  flashed 
into  her  face  when  greeting  Van  Berg  had  suggested  her 
secret,  and  all  that  followed  confirmed  his  surmise.  The 
truth  was  plainer  still  when  she  came  down  to  their  early 
breakfast  the  next  morning  with  color  in  her  cheeks  and  a 
fitful  light  of  excitement  in  her  eyes. 

As  he  realized  the  truth  he  fairly  trembled  with  appre- 
hension and  longing.  "Oh,  if  Ida  could  only  marry  that 
man  I  would  be  almost  beside  myself  with  joy, "  he  thought; 
"but  I  fear  it  is  rash  even  to  hope  for  such  a  thing.  In- 
deed, I  myself  am  the  obstacle  that  would  probably  prevent 
it  all.  The  Van  Bergs  are  a  proud  race,  and  this  young 
man's  father  knows  me  too  well.  O  Grod!  I  could  be  annihi- 
lated if  thereby  my  child  could  be  happy. ' ' 

"Ida,"  he  said,  hesitatingly,  "perhaps  I  had  better  not 
go  with  you  this  morning.  I  imagine  Mr.  Van  Berg  asked 
me  out  of  politeness  rather  than  from  any  wish  to  see  me 
and — and — I  think  I  had  better  not  go." 

She  looked  up  at  him  swiftly,  and  the  rich  color  mantled 
her  face,  for  she  read  his  thoughts  in  part.  But  she  only 
said  quietly: 


IDA'S    TEMPTATION  415 

"Then  I  will  not  go." 

11  That  would  not  be  right  or  courteous,  Ida,  but  I  think 
you  young  people  will  get  on  better  without  me." 

11  You  are  mistaken,  father;  I  never  intend  to  get  on 
without  you,  and  any  friend  of  mine  who  does  not  welcome 
you  becomes  a  stranger  from  that  hour.  But  I  think  you 
are  doing  Mr.  Van  Berg  injustice.  At  any  rate  we  will  give 
him  a  chance  to  show  a  better  spirit." 

"Ida,  my  child,  if  you  only  knew  how  gladly  I  would 
sacrifice  myself  to  make  you  happy!" 

She  came  to  him  and  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 
looking  up  into  his  face  said,  with  the  earnestness  and  so- 
lemnity of  a  vow,  "I  will  take  no  happiness  which  I  cannot 
receive  as  your  loving  daughter.  As  long  as  you  are  the 
man  you  have  been  since  Sunday  I  will  stand  proudly  at 
your  side.  If  you  should  ever  be  weak  again  you  will  drag 
me  down  with  you." 

He  held  her  from  him  and  looked  at  her  as  a  miser  might 
gloat  over  his  treasure. 

"Ida,  my  good  angel,"  he  murmured. 

"Nonsense!"  she  exclaimed,  trying  to  hide  her  feelings 
by  a  little  brusqueness,  "I'm  as  human  a  girl  as  there  is  in 
this  city,  and  will  try  your  patience  a  hundred  times  before 
the  year  is  out.  Come,  let  us  go  and  visit  this  proud  artist. 
He  had  better  beware,  or  he  may  find  an  expression  on  my 
face  that  he  won't  like  if  I  should  decide  to  give  him 
a  sitting." 

But  the  artist  did  like  the  expression  of  Ida's  face  as  he 
glanced  up  from  his  work  with  great  frequency  and  with  an 
admiring  glow  in  his  eyes  that  was  anything  but  cool  and 
business-like.  Even  her  jealous  love  had  not  detected  a 
tone  or  act  in  his  reception  of  her  father  that  was  not  all 
she  could  ask,  and  she  had  never  seen  the  poor  man  look 
so  pleased  and  hopeful  as  when  he  left  the  studio  for  his 
office.  There  had  not  been  a  particle  of  patronage  in  Van 
Berg's  manner,  but  only  the  cordial  and  respectful  courtesy 
of  a  younger  gentleman  toward  an  elderly  one.     Mr.  May- 


416  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

hew  had  been  made  at  home  at  once,  and  before  he  left,  the 
artist  had  obtained  his  promise  to  come  again  with  his  daugh- 
ter on  the  following  morning. 

"His  bearing  toward  father  was  the  perfection  of  good 
breeding,"  thought  Ida,  and  it  would  seem  that  some  of  the 
gratitude  with  which  her  heart  overflowed  found  its  way  into 
her  tones  and  eyes. 

"You  look  so  pleasantly  and  kindly,  that  you  must  be 
thinking  of  Mr.  Eltinge,"  said  Van  Berg. 

"You  are  not  to  paint  my  thoughts,"  said  Ida,  with  a 
quick  flush. 

"I  wish  I  could." 

"I'm  glad  you  can't." 

"You  do  puzzle  one,  Miss  May  hew.  On  the  day  of  our 
visit  to  the  old  garden  your  thoughts  seemed  as  clear  to  me 
as  the  water  of  the  little  brook,  and  I  supposed  I  saw  all 
that  was  in  your  mind.  But  before  the  day  was  over  I  felt 
that  I  did  not  understand  you  at  all." 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  I'm  astonished  that  you  are  an  artist." 

"Because  of  the  character  of  my  work  ?" 

"No,  indeed.  But  such  a  wonderful  taste  for  solving 
problems  suggests  a  metaphysician.  I  think  you  would 
become  discouraged  with  such  tasks.  Just  think  how 
many  ladies  there  are  in  the  world,  and  I'm  sure  any 
one  of  them  is  a  more  abstruse  problem  than  I  am." 

The  artist  looked  up  at  her  in  surprise  and  bit  his  lip 
with  a  faint  trace  of  embarrassment,  but  he  said,  after  a 
moment,  "But  it  does  not  follow  that  they  are  interesting 
problems." 

"You  don't  know,"  she  replied. 

"And  never  shall,"  he  added.  "I  do  know,  however, 
that  you  are  a  very  interesting  one." 

"I  didn't  agree  to  come  here  to  be  solved  as  a  problem," 
she  said  demurely,  but  with  a  mirthMl  twinkle  in  her  eyes; 
"I  only  promised  you  a  sitting  for  the  sake  of  Mr.  Eltinge." 

"Two  sittings,  Miss  May  hew. " 

"Well,  yes,  if  two  are  needful." 


IDA'S    TEMPTATION  417 

"By  all  the  nine  muses!  you  do  not  expect  me  to  make 
a  good  picture  from  only  two  sittings?" 

"You  know  how  slight  is  my  acquaintance  with  any  of 
those  superior  divinities,  and  in  this  sacred  haunt  of  theirs 
I  feel  that  I  should  express  all  my  opinions  with  bated 
breath;  but  truly,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  thought  you  could 
make  a  picture  from  the  sketch  you  made  in  the  garden." 

"Yes,  I  could  make  a  picture,  but  every  sitting  you  will 
give  enables  me  to  make  a  better  picture,  and  you  know 
how  much  we  both  owe  to  Mr.  Eltinge. " 

"I'm  learning  every  day  how  much,  how  very  much, 
I  owe  to  him,"  she  said,  earnestly. 

"Then  for  his  sake  you  will  promise  to  come  as  often  as 
I  wish  you  to,"  was  his  eager  response,  and  it  was  so  eager 
that  she  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Really,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  am  becoming  bewildered  as  to 
what  that  little  sketch  I  asked  you  to  make  may  involve." 

"Will  it  be  so  wearisome  for  you  to  come  here?"  he 
asked,  with  a  look  of  disappointment  that  surprised  her 
still  more. 

1 1 1  didn'  t  say  that, ' '  was  her  quick  reply ;  l '  and  I  promise 
to  come  to-morrow.     Perhaps  you  will  find  that  sufficient." 

"I  know  it  won't  be  sufficient." 

"Cousin  Ik  has  told  me  that  you  are  very  painstaking 
and  conscientious  in  your  work." 

"Thanks  to  Cousin  Ik.  When  I  get  a  chance  to  paint 
such  a  picture  as  this  I  do,  indeed,  wish  to  make  the  most 
of  it." 

"But  how  long  must  Mr.  Eltinge  wait  for  it  ?" 

"I  think  we  can  send  it  to  him  as  a  Christmas  present." 

"We?     You,  rather,  will  send  it." 

"No,  we;  or  rather,  in  giving  me  the  sittings,  you  give 
Mr.  Eltinge  all  that  makes  the  picture  valuable  to  him." 

Ida's  cheeks  began  to  burn,  for  the  artist's  words  sug- 
gested a  powerful  temptation  that,  in  accordance  with  her 
impetuous  nature,  came  in  the  form  of  an  impulse  rather 
than  an  insidious  and  lurking  thought.     The  impulse  was 


418  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

to  accept  of  the  opportunities  he  pressed  upon  her,  and,  if 
possible,  win  him  away  from  Jennie  Burton.  At  first  it 
seemed  a  mean  and  dishonorable  thing  to  do,  and  her  face 
grew  crimson  with  shame  at  the  very  thought.  Van  Berg 
looked  at  her  with  surprise.  Conscious  himself  that  while 
he  meant  that  Mr.  Eltinge  should  profit  richly  from  her 
visits,  it  was  not  by  any  means  for  the  sake  of  the  old  gen- 
tleman only  that  he  had  been  requesting  her  to  come  so 
often,  his  own  color  began  to  rise. 

"She  begins  to  see  that  my  motives  are  a  little  mixed, 
and  that  is  what  is  embarrassing  her,"  he  thought,  as  he 
bent  over  his  work  to  hide  his  own  confusion. 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  I'm  getting  tired  of  sitting  still,"  Ida 
exclaimed.  "It's  contrary  to  my  restless  disposition.  May 
1  not  make  an  exploring  tour  around  your  studio  ?  You 
have  no  idea  what  a  constraint  I've  been  putting  on  my 
feminine  curiosity." 

"I  give  you  a  carte-blanche  to  do  as  you  please.  Have 
you  much  curiosity  ?" 

"I'm  a  daughter  of  Eve." 

"Well,  I'm  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  'old  Adam'  in  me,"  and  he  felt  that  as  she  then 
appeared  she  could  tempt  him  to  almost  anything. 

Now  that  her  back  was  toward  him  she  felt  safer,  and 
her  mellow  laugh  trilled  out  as  she  said,  "We  may  have  to 
dub  this  place  a  confessional  rather  than  a  studio  if  you  talk 
in  that  way. ' ' 

"If  I  confessed  all  my  sins  against  you,  Miss  May  hew, 
it  would,  indeed,  be  a  confessional."  He  spoke  so  earnestly 
that  she  gave  him  a  quick  glance  of  surprise. 

"There  is  no  need,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "since  I  have 
given  you  full  absolution,"  and  she  suddenly  became  inter- 
ested in  something  in  the  furthest  corner  of  the  apartment. 
After  a  moment  she  added:  "If  I  am  to  come  here  I  must 
say  to  you  again,  as  I  did  on  the  day  I  so  disgusted  you 
by  my  behavior  in  the  stage — you  must  let  bygones  be 
bygones. ' ' 


IDA'S    TEMPTATION  419 

It  was  now  the  artist's  turn  to  laugh,  and  his  merriment 
was  so  hearty  and  prolonged  that  she  turned  a  vexed  and 
crimson  face  toward  him  and  said:  "I  think  it  B  too  bad  in 
you  to  laugh  at  me  so. "  . 

-Miss  Mayhew,  1  assure  you  I'm  not  laughing  at  you 
at  all.     But  your  words  suggest  a  good  omen.     Don  t  that 
stage  teach  you  that  fate  means  us  to  be  good  friends  in 
spite  of  all  you  can  do?    Before  we  met  in  that  car  of  for- 
tune  I  had  been  trying  for  a  week  or  more  to  make  your 
acquaintance,  and  made  a  martyr  of  myself  in  the  effort 
I  played  the  agreeable  to  nearly  every  lady  in  the  hotel, 
and  perspired  on  picnics  and  boating  parties  that  I  did  not 
euiov      I  Played  croquet  and  other  games  till  I  was  half 
bored  to  death,  and   all  in  the   effort   to   produce  such  a 
genial  atmosphere  of  enjoyment  and  good-feeling  that  you 
would  thaw  a  little  toward  me;  but  yon  wouldn  t  speak  to 
me   nor  even  look  at  me.     At  last  I  gave  up  in  despair  and 
went  off  among  the  hills  with  my  sketch-book,  and  when 
returning  that  blessed  old  stage  overtook  me.     Wasn  t  1 
pleased  when  I  found  you  were  a  fellow-passenger!  and 
let  me  now  express  my  thanks  that  you  looked  so  reso- 
lutely away  from  me,  for  it  gave  me  a  chance  to  contrast 
a  profile  in  which  I  could  detect  no  fault  with  the  broad, 
sultry  visage  of  the  stout  woman  opposite  me.     And  then, 
thank  heaven,  the  horses  ran  away.     Who  ever  heard  of 
stage-horses  running  away  before?    It  was  a  smile  of  for- 
tune-a  miracle.     Submit  to  destiny,  Miss  Mayhew   for  it  s 
decreed  that  we  shall  be  good  friends,"  and  he  laughed 
again  in  huge  enjoyment  of  the  whole  scene. 

In  spite  of  herself  Ida  found  his  humor  contagious  and 
irresistible,  and  she  laughed  also  till  the  tears  came  into 

her  eyes.  _        ,  ,         ,. 

"Mr  Van  Berg,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  ought  to  be  indig- 
nant, or  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  look  you  in  the  face.  I 
don't  know  what  I  ought  to  do,  only  I'm  sure  it  isn  t  the 
proper  thing  at  all  for  me  to  be  laughing  in  this  way.  1 
think  I'll  go  home  at  once,  for  I'm  only  wasting  your  two*- 


420  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

His  answer  was  not  very  relevant,  for  he  said  impetu- 
ously: "Oh,  Miss  Ida,  I  would  give  five  years  of  my  life  to 
be  able  to  paint  your  portrait  as  you  now  appear,  for  the 
picture  would  cure  old  Melancholy  himself  and  fill  a  prison- 
cell  with  light." 

4 'I  won't  come  here  any  more  if  you  laugh  at  me  so," 
she  said,  putting  on  her  hat. 

"See,"  he  said,  "I'm  as  grave  as  a  judge.  I  will  never 
laugh  at  you,  but  I  hope  to  laugh  with  you  many  a  time, 
for  to  tell  you  the  truth  the  experience  has  reminded  me  of 
the  'inextinguishable  laughter  of  the  gods.'  Please  don't 
go  yet." 

"If  I  must  come  so  often  my  visits  must  be  brief." 

"Then  you  will  come." 

"I  haven't  promised  anything  except  for  to-morrow. 
Good-morning." 

"Let  me  walk  home  with  you. " 

"No,  positively.  You  have  wasted  too  much  time  al- 
ready. ' ' 

"You  will  at  least  shake  hands  in  token  of  peace  and 
amity  before  we  part  ?' ' 

"Oh,  certainly,  if  you  think  it  worth  the  while  when  we 
are  to  meet  so  soon  again.  Oh !  you  hurt  me.  You  did  that 
once  before." 

His  face  suddenly  became  grave  and  even  tender  in  its 
expression,  as  he  said,  in  a  low,  deep  voice:  "More  than 
once,  Miss  Ida.  Don't  think  I  forget  or  forgive  myself  be- 
cause you  treat  me  so  generously." 

She  would  not  look  up  and  meet  his  eyes,  but  replied, 
in  tones  that  trembled  with  repressed  feeling:  "I  could  for- 
give anything  after  your  manner  toward  father  this  morn- 
ing. Never  think  I  can  forget  such  favors,"  and  then  she 
snatched  away  her  hand  and  went  swiftly  out.  Her  tears 
fell  fast  as  she  sought  her  home  by  quiet  streets  with  bowed 
head  and  veil  drawn  tightly  down,  and  she  murmured: 

"I  cannot  give  him  up — I  cannot,  indeed,  I  cannot.  If 
\  lose  him  it  must  be  because  there  is  no  help  for  it." 


IDA'S    TEMPTATION  421 

Then  conscience  uttered  its  low,  faint  protest  and  her 
tears  fell  faster  still. 

When  reaching  her  room  she  threw  herself  on  the  sofa 
and  sobbed:  "Would  it  be  so  very,  very  wrong  to  win  him 
if  I  could?  She  can't  love  him  as  much  as  I  do.  Why,  I 
was  ready  to  die  even  to  win  his  respect,  and  now  in  these 
visits  he  gives  me  a  chance  to  win  his  love.  Is  he  pledged 
to  Miss  Burton  yet?  If  he  is,  I  do  not  know  it.  He  does 
seem  to  care  for  me— there  is  often  something  in  his  face 
and  tone  that  whispers  hope.  If  he  loves  her  as  I  love  him 
he  could  not  be  here  in  New  York  all  this  week.  But  it's 
her  love  that  troubles  me— I've  seen  it  in  her  eyes  when 
he  was  not  observing,  and  I  fear  she  just  worships  him. 
Alas,  he  gave  her  reason.  His  manner  has  been  that  of  a 
lover,  and  no  one— he  least  of  all— would  think  of  flirting 
with  Jennie  Burton.  But  does  he  love  her  so  deeply  that 
I  could  not  win  him  if  I  had  a  chance  ?  Would  it  be  very 
wicked  if  I  did?  Must  I  give  up  my  happiness  for  her 
happiness?  I  came  to  New  York  to  get  away  from  danger 
and  temptation  and  here  I  am  right  in  the  midst  of  it. 
What  shall  I  do!  Oh,  my  Saviour,  I'm  half  afraid  to  speak 
to  thee  about  this." 

"If  I  could  only  see  Mr.  Eltinge,"  she  murmured,  after 
an  hour  of  distracted  thought  and  indecision.  "There  is  no 
time  to  write — indeed,  I  could  not  write  on  such  a  subject, 
and— and— I'm  afraid  he'd  advise  me  against  it.  He  can't 
understand  a  woman's  feelings  in  a  case  like  this,  at  least 
he  could  not  understand  a  passionate,  faulty  girl  like  me. 
I've  no  patience— no  fortitude.  I  could  die  for  my  love— 
1  think,  1  hope,  I  could  for  my  faith— but  I  feel  no  power 
within  me  to  endure  patiently  year  after  year.  I  would  be 
like  the  poor,  weak  women  they  shut  up  in  the  Inquisition 
and  who  suffered  on  to  the  end  only  through  remorseless 
compulsion,  because  the  walls  were  too  thick  for  escape, 
and  the  tormentor's  hands  and  the  rack  were  irresistible. 
My  soul  would  succumb  as  well  as  my  body.  This  would 
seem  wild,  wicked  talk  to  Mr.  Eltinge;  it  would  seem  weak 


422  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

and  irrational  to  any  man.  But  I'm  only  Ida  May  hew,  and 
such  is  my  nature.  I've  been  made  all  the  more  incapable 
of  patient  self-sacrifice  by  self-indulgence  from  my  child- 
hood up.  Oh,  will  it  be  very,  very  wrong  to  win  him  if 
I  can  ?' '  and  the  passionate  tears  and  sobs  that  followed 
these  words  would  seem  to  indicate  that  she  understood  her 
nature  only  too  well. 

At  last  she  concluded,  in  weariness  and  exhaustion:  "I'm 
too  weak  and  distracted  to  think  any  more.  I  hardly  know 
whether  it's  right  or  wrong.  I  hope  it  isn't  very  wrong.  I 
won't  decide  now.  Let  matters  take  their  own  course  as 
they  have  done  and  I  may  see  clearer  by  and  by." 

But  deep  in  her  heart  she  felt  that  this  was  about  the 
same  as  yielding  to  the  temptation. 

She  bathed  her  eyes,  tried  to  think  how  she  could  spend 
the  intervening  hours  before  they  would  meet  again.  Then 
with  a  sense  of  dismay  she  began  to  consider,  "If  we  are  to 
meet  so  often  what  are  we  to  talk  about  ?  He  once  tried 
to  converse  with  me  and  found  me  so  ignorant  he  couldn't. 
It  seemed  to  me  I  didn't  know  anything  that  evening,  and 
he'll  soon  grow  disgusted  with  me  again  as  he  sees  my  poor 
little  pack  of  knowledge  is  like  a  tramp's  bundle  that  he 
carries  around  with  him.  I  must  read — I  must  study  every 
moment,  or  I  haven't  the  remotest  chance  of  success.  Suc- 
cess! Oh,  merciful  heaven!  it's  the  same  as  if  I  were  set- 
ting about  it  all  deliberately  and  there's  no  use  of  deceiving 
myself.     I  hope  it  isn't  very,  very  wrong." 

She  went  to  her  father's  library  with  flushed  cheeks  and 
hesitating  steps,  as  if  it  were  the  tree  from  which  she  might 
pluck  the  fruit  of  forbidden  knowledge.  The  long  rows  of 
ponderous  and  neglected  books  appalled  her;  she  took 
down  two  or  three  and  they  seemed  like  unopened  mines, 
deep  and  rooky.  She  felt  instinctively  that  there  was  not 
time  for  her  to  transmute  their  ores  into  graceful  and 
natural  mental  adornments. 

"Methuselah  himself  couldn't  read  them  all,"  she  ex- 
claimed.    "By  the  powers!  if  here  isn't  more  books  than 


IDA'S    TEMPTATION  423 

I  can  carry,  on  one  subject.  I  suppose  cartloads  have  been 
written  about  art.  I've  no  doubt  he's  read  them  all,  but 
I  never  can;  I  fear  my  attempt  to  read  up  is  like  trying  to 
get  strong  by  eating  a  whole  ox  at  once.  Oh,  why  did  I 
waste  my  school-days,  and  indeed  all  my  life  as  I  have! 
and  she  stamped  her  foot  in  her  impatience  and  irritation. 

"Well,"  she  sighed  at  last,  with  a  grim  sort  of  humor; 
"I  must  do  the  best  I  can.  It's  the  same  as  if  I  were  on 
a  desert  island.  I  must  tie  together  some  sort  of  a  raft  in 
order  to  cross  the  gulf  that  separates  us,  for  I  never  can 
stand  it  to  stay  here  alone.  Since  I  have  no  time  to  spare 
I  may  as  well  commence  with  that  encyclopaedia,  and  learn 
a  little  about  as  many  things  as  possible;  then  if  he  intro- 
duces a  subject  he  shall  at  least  see  that  1  know  what  he  is 
talking  about."  And  during  the  afternoon  the  poor  girl 
plodded  through  several  articles,  often  recalling  her  wander- 
ing thoughts  by  impatient  little  gestures,  and  by  the  time 
her  father  returned  she  was  conscious  of  knowing  a  very 
little  indeed  about  a  number  of  things.  "No  matter,"  she 
thought,  compressing  her  lips,  "I  won't  give  up  till  I  must. 
It's  my  one  chance  for  happiness  in  this  world,  and  I'll  cling 
to  it  while  there  is  a  shred  of  hope  left." 

It  was  with  an  eager  and  resolute  face  that  she  confronted 
her  father  that  evening,  as  they  sat  down  to  dinner.  He 
thought  she  would  descant  on  her  experiences  of  the  morn- 
ing, and  he  was  anxious  for  a  chance  to  say  how  truly  he 
appreciated  Mr.  Van  Berg's  cordial  manner,  but  she  sur- 
prised him  by  asking  abruptly: 

"Father,  when  do  we  elect  another  president?" 

He  told  her,  and  then  followed  a  rapid  fire  of  questions 
about  the  general  and  state  government,  and  the  names  and 
character  of  the  men  who  held  the  chief  offices.  At  last 
Mr.  Mayhew  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork  in  his  astonish- 
ment, and  asked  sententiously: 

"How  long  is  it  since  you  decided  to  go  into  pol- 
itics?" 

Ida's  laugh  was  very  reassuring,  and  she  said:  "Poor 


424  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

father!  I  don't  wonder  you  think  I've  lost  my  wits,  now 
that  I'm  trying  to  use  the  few  I  have.  Don't  you  see?  I 
don't  know  anything  that's  worth  knowing.  I  wasted  my 
time  at  school,  for  my  head  was  full  of  beaux,  dress,  and 
nonsense.  Besides,  I  don't  think  my  teachers  took  much 
pains  to  make  me  understand  anything.  At  any  rate,  my 
dancing-master,  and  perhaps  my  music-teacher — a  little  bit 
— are  the  only  ones  that  have  any  reason  to  be  proud  of  the 
result.  Now  I  want  you  to  brush  up  your  ideas  about 
everything,  so  you  can  answer  the  endless  questions  I  am 
going  to  ask  you. ' ' 

"Why,  bless  you,  child,  you  take  away  my  breath. 
Rome  wasn't  built  in  a  day." 

"The  way  they  built  Home  will  never  answer  for  me.  I 
must  grow  like  one  of  our  Western  cities  that  has  a  mayor 
and  opera-house  almost  before  the  Indians  and  wolves  are 
driven  out  of  town.  Speaking  of  Eome  reminds  me  how 
little  I  know  of  that  city,  and  it's  a  burning  shame,  too,  for 
I  spent  a  month  there." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Mayhew,  with  kindling  interest,  "sup- 
pose we  take  up  a  course  of  reading  about  Kome  for  the 
winter?" 

"For  the  winter!  That  won't  do  at  all.  Can't  you  tell 
me  something  of  interest  about  Rome  this  evening?" 

"I've  already  mentioned  the  interesting  fact — that  it 
wasn't  built  in  a  day.  I  think  that's  the  most  important 
thing  that  you  need  to  know  about  Rome  and  everything 
else  this  evening.  Why,  Ida,  you  can't  become  wise  as  an 
ostrich  makes  its  supper— by  swallowing  everything  that 
comes  in  its  way.     You  are  not  a  bit  like  an  ostrich." 

"An  ostrich  is  a  silly  bird  that  puts  its  head  under  the 
sand  and  thinks  its  whole  great  body  hidden  because  it  can't 
see  itself,  isn't  it,  father?" 

"I've  heard  that  story  told  of  it,"  replied  Mr.  Mayhew, 
laughing. 

"Anything  but  an  ostrich,  then.  Come,  I'll  read  the 
evening  paper  to  you  on  condition  you  tell  me  the  leading 


IDA'S    TEMPTATION  425 

questions  of  the  day.  What  is  just  now  the  leading  ques- 
tion of  the  day?" 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Mayhew,  demurely,  but  with  a  sparkle 
of  humor  in  his  eye,  "one  of  the  leading  questions  of  this 
day  with  me  has  been  whether  Mr.  Van  Berg  would  not 
enjoy  dining  with  us  to-morrow  evening  now  that  he  is 
here  alone  in  the  city?" 

Ida  instantly  held  the  newspaper  before  her  crimson  face 
and  said: 

"Father,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  thus  to  divert  my 
mind  from  the  pursuit  of  useful  knowledge. n 

Her  father  came  to  her  side  and  said  very  kindly:  "Ida, 
darling,  you  are  a  little  bit  like  an  ostrich  now." 

She  sprang  up,  and,  hiding  her  face  on  his  shoulder, 
trembled  like  a  leaf.  "Oh,  father,"  she  whispered,  "I 
would  not  have  him  know  for  the  world.  Is  it  so  very 
plain?" 

"Not  to  him,  my  child,  but  the  eyes  of  a  love  like  mine 
are  very  keen.  So  you  needn't  be  on  your  guard  before 
your  old  father  as  you  must  be  before  him  and  the  world. 
You  shall  have  only  rest  and  sympathy  at  home  as  far  as  I 
can  give  them.  Indeed,  if  you  will  let  me,  I'll  become  a 
very  unobtrusive,  but  perhaps  useful,  ally.  At  any  rate, 
I'll  try  not  to  make  any  stupid,  ignorant  blunders.  I  have 
liked  Mr.  Van  Berg  from  the  first  hour  of  our  meeting,  and 
I  would  thank  God  from  the  depths  of  my  heart  if  this 
could  be." 

"Dear,  good  father,  how  little  I  understood  you.  I've 
been  living  in  poverty  over  a  gold  mine.  But,  father,  I'm 
so  ignorant  and  Mr.  Van  Berg  knows  everything." 

"Not  quite,  you'll  find.  He's  only  a  man,  Ida.  But 
you  can  never  win  him  through  politics  or  by  discussing 
with  him  the  questions  of  the  day.  These  are  not  in  your 
line  nor  in  his." 

"What  can  I  do,  father?  Indeed,  it  does  not  seem  to 
me  maidenly  to  do  anything." 

"It  would   not   be  maidenly,   Ida,    to   step   one   hair's- 


426  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

breadth  beyond  the  line  of  scrupulous,  womanly  delicacy, 
and  by  any  such  course  you  would  only  defeat  and  thwart 
yourself.  A  woman  must  always  be  sought;  and  as  a  rule 
she  loses  as  she  seeks.  But  I'll  trust  to  your  instincts  to 
guide  you  here.  You  have  only  to  be  simple  and  true,  as 
you  have  been  since  the  happy  miracle  that  transformed 
you.  Unless  a  man  is  infatuated  as  I — but  no  matter.  A 
man  that  keeps  his  senses  welcomes  truthfulness — a  high, 
delicate  sense  of  honor — above  all  things  in  a  woman,  for  it 
gives  him  a  sense  of  security  and  rest.  By  truthfulness  I 
do  not  mean  the  indiscreet  blurting  out  of  things  that  good 
taste  would  leave  unsaid,  but  clear-eyed  integrity  that  hides 
no  guile.  Then,  again,  unless  a  man  is  blinded  by  passion 
or  some  kind  of  infatuation  he  knows  that  the  chief  need  of 
his  life  is  a  home  lighted  and  warmed  by  an  unwavering 
love.  With  these  his  happiness  and  success  are  secured,  as 
far  as  they  can  be  in  this  world,  unless  he  is  a  brute  and  a 
fool,  and  has  no  right  to  exist  at  all.  But  I  am  growing 
preachy.  Let  me  suggest  some  things  that  I  have  observed 
in  this  artist.  He  is  a  high-toned  pagan  and  worships  beauty ; 
but  with  this  outward  perfection  he  also  demands  spiritual 
loveliness,  for  with  him  mind  and  honor  are  in  the  ascend- 
ant. He  admired  you  immensely  from  the  first,  and  since 
your  character  has  been  growing  in  harmony  with  your  face 
he  has  sought  your  society.  So,  be  simple,  true,  and  mod- 
est, and  you  will  win  him  if  the  thing  is  possible.  You  will 
never  win  him  by  being  anything  else,  and  you  might  lose 
your  own  respect  and  his  too." 

"I'll  suffer  anything  rather  than  that,  father.  I  think 
you  had  better  not  invite  him  to-morrow  evening." 

"I'll  be  governed  by  what  I  see  to-morrow,"  he  replied, 
musingly.  "Both  my  business  and  my  habit  of  mind  have 
taught  me  to  observe  and  study  men's  motives  and  impulses 
very  closely.  You  could  order  a  suitable  dinner  after  leav- 
ing the  studio,  could  you  not?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"Well,  then,  my  Princess  Ida,  I'll  be  your  grand  vizier, 


IDA'S    TEMPTATION  427 

and  I'll  treat  with  this  foreign  power  with  such  a  fine  diplo- 
macy that  he  shall  appreciate  all  the  privileges  he  ob- 
tains. But  we  will  keep  our  self-respect  hereafter,  Ida, 
aod  then  we  can  look  the  world  in  the  face  and  ask  no  odds 
of  it." 

"Yes,  father,  let  us  keep  that  at  all  events.  And  yet  I'm 
only  a  woman." 

"You  are  the  woman  that  has  made  me  happy,  and  I 
think  there  is  another  man  who  will  want  to  be  made  happy 
also.  And  now  we  will  defer  all  other  questions  of  the  day, 
for  I  must  go  out  for  a  time.  Do  not  think  I  undervalue 
your  craving  for  information,  and  you  shall  have  it  as  fast 
as  you  can  take  care  of  it.  You  have  grown  pale  and  thin 
this  summer,  but  1  do  not  expect  you  to  become  plump  and 
rosy  again  in  a  day. ' ' 

"Oh,  I'm  rosy  too  often  as  it  is.  Why  is  it  that  girls 
must  blush  so  ridiculously  when  they  don't  want  to? 
That's  the  question  of  the  day  for  me.  I  could  flirt  des- 
perately in  old  times,  and  yet  look  as  demure  and  cool  as 
if  I  were  an  innocent.  But  now,  oh!  I'm  fairly  enraged 
with  myself  at  times." 

"They  say  blushes  are  love's  trail,"  said  Mr.  May  hew 
with  a  laugh,  "and  since  he  is  around  I  suppose  he  must 
leave  his  tracks.  If  you  wish  for  a  more  scientific  reason 
let  me  add  that  physiology  teaches  us  that  the  blood  comes 
from  the  heart.  I  can  assure  you,  however,  that  there  are 
bat  few  gentlemen  who  admire  ladies  that  cannot  blush,  and 
Mr.  Van  Berg  is  not  one  of  them. " 

Ida  spent  the  evening  at  her  piano  instead  of  over  the 
encyclopaedia,  but  she  sighed  again  and  again. 

"Simple  and  true!  I  fear  Jennie  Burton  and  Mr.  El- 
tinge  would  say  I  was  neither  if  they  knew  what  was  in  my 
heart.  But  I  can't  help  it — I  can't  give  him  up  after  what 
has  happened  since  I  came  to  the  city,  unless  I  must." 

But  the  music  she  selected  was  simple  and  true.  Toss- 
ing her  brilliant  and  florid  pieces  impatiently  aside,  she 
played  or  sang  only  that  which  was  plaintive,  low,  and  in 


428  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

harmony  with  her  thoughts.  It  also  seemed  to  have  a 
peculiar  attractiveness  to  a  tall  gentleman  who  lingered 
some  moments  beneath  the  windows,  and  even  took  one  or 
two  steps  up  toward  the  door,  and  then  turned  and  strode 
away  as  if  conscious  that  he  must  either  enter  or  depart 
at  once. 


THE    BLIND    GOD  429 


CHAPTER   XLIX 

THE   BLIND   GOD 

THE  Miss  Majhew  that  crossed  the  artist's  threshold 
the  following  morning  might  have  been  taken  as 
a  model  of  graceful  self-possession,  but  she  disguised 
a  maiden  with  as  fluttering  a  heart  and  trembling  a  soul  as 
ever  faced  one  of  the  supreme  moments  of  destiny.  Her 
father,  however,  proved  a  faithful  and  intelligent  ally,  and 
his  manner  toward  Van  Berg  was  a  fine  blending  of  court- 
esy and  dignity,  suggesting  a  man  as  capable  of  conferring 
as  of  receiving  favors.  His  host  would  indeed  have  been 
blind  and  stupid  if  he  had  tried  to  patronize  Mr.  Mayhew 
that  morning. 

Although  unconscious  of  the  fact,  Van  Berg  was  for  a 
time  subjected  to  the  closest  scrutiny.  Love  had  deep  if 
not  dark  designs  against  him,  and  the  glances  he  bent  on 
Ida  might  suggest  that  he  was  only  too  ready  to  become 
a  victim.  He  had  welcomed  to  his  studio  two  conspirators 
who  were  committed  to  their  plot  by  the  strongest  of  mo- 
tives, and  yet  they  were  such  novel  conspirators  that  a  word, 
a  glance,  an  expression  even  of  ennui  or  indifference  would 
have  so  touched  their  pride  that  they  would  have  abandoned 
their  wiles  at  every  cost  to  themselves.  Were  there  trying 
to  ensnare  him?  Never  were  such  films  and  gossamer 
threads  used  in  like  entanglement  before.  He  could  have 
brushed  them  all  away  by  one  cold  sweep  of  his  eyes,  and 
the  maiden  who  had  not  scrupled  at  death  to  gain  merely 
his  respect,  would  have  left  the  studio  with  a  colder  glance 
than  his,  nor  would  her  womanly  strength  have  failed  her 


430  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

until  she  reached  a  refuge  which  his  eye  could  not  pene- 
trate; but  then— God  pity  her.  The  tragedies  over  which 
the  angels  weep  are  the  bloodless  wounds  of  the  spirit. 

But  it  would  seem  that  the  atmosphere  of  Van  Berg's 
studio  that  summer  morning  was  not  at  all  conducive  to 
tragedy  of  any  kind,  nor  were  there  in  his  face  or  manner 
any  indications  of  comedy,  which  to  poor  Ida  would  have 
been  far  worse;  for  an  air  of  careless  bonhomie  on  his  part 
when  she  was  so  desperately  in  earnest  would  have  made 
his  smiles  and  jests  like  heartless  mockery. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  his  manner  the  previous  day,  the 
poor  girl  had  come  to  the  studio  fearing  far  more  than  she 
hoped,  and  burdened  also  with  a  troubled  conscience.  She 
was  almost  sure  she  was  not  doing  right,  and  yet  the  temp- 
tation was  too  strong  to  be  resisted.  But  when  he  took  her 
hand  in  greeting  that  morning,  and  said  with  a  smile  that 
seemed  to  flash  out  from  the  depths  of  his  soul,  4lI  won't 
hurt  you  any  more  if  I  can  help  it,"  all  scruples,  all  hesi- 
tancy vanished  for  a  time,  like  frostwork  in  the  sun.  His 
magnetism  was  irresistible,  and  she  felt  that  it  would  re- 
quire all  her  tact  and  resolution  to  keep  him  by  some  care- 
less, random  word  or  act,  from  brushing  aside  the  veil 
behind  which  shrank  her  trembling  and,  as  yet,  unsought 

love. 

But  Van  Berg  was  even  a  rarer  study  than  the  maiden, 
and  his  manner  toward  both  Ida  and  her  father  might  well 
lead  one  to  think  that  he  was  inclined  to  become  the  chief 
conspirator  in  the  design  against  himself.  He  had  scarcely 
been  conscious  of  time  or  place  since  parting  the  previous 
day  with  the  friend  he  was  so  bent  on  securing,  and  when 
at  last  he  slept  in  the  small  hours  of  the  morning  he  dreamt 
that  he  had  been  caught  by  a  mighty  tidal  wave  that  was 
bearing  him  swiftly  toward  heaven  on  its  silver  crest. 
When  he  awoke,  the  wave,  so  far  from  being  a  bubble, 
seemed  a  grand  spiritual  reality,  and  he  felt  as  if  he  had 
already  reached  a  seventh  heaven  of  vague,  undefined  ex- 
hilaration.   Never  before  had  life  appeared  so  rich  a  posses- 


THE   BLIND    GOD  431 

sion  and  so  full  of  glorious  possibilities.  Never  in  the  past 
had  he  felt  his  profession  to  be  so  noble  and  worthy  of  his 
devotion,  and  never  had  the  fame  he  hoped  to  grasp  by 
means  of  it  seemed  so  near.  Beauty  became  to  him  so  in- 
finitely beautiful  and  divine  that  he  felt  he  could  worship 
it  were  it  only  embodied,  and  then  with  a  strange  and  ex- 
quisite thrill  of  exultation  he  exclaimed:  "Right  or  wrong, 
to  my  eye  it  is  embodied  in  Ida  Mayhew,  and  she  will  fill 
my  studio  with  light  again  to-day  and  many  days  to  come. 
If  ever  an  artist  was  fortunate  in  securing  as  a  friend,  as  an 
inspiration,  a  perfect  and  budding  flower  of  personal  and 
spiritual  loveliness,  I  am  that  happy  man." 

The  Van  Berg  of  other  days  would  have  called  the  Van 
Berg  that  waited  impatiently  for  his  guests  that  morning  a 
rhapsodical  fool,  and  the  greater  part  of  the   world  would 
offer  no  dissent.    The  world  is  very  prone  to  call  every  man 
who  is  possessed  by  a  little  earnestness  or  enthusiasm  a  fool, 
but  it  is  usually  an  open  question  which  is  the  more  foolish 
—the  world  or  the  man;  and  perhaps  we  shall  all  learn  some 
day  that  there  was  more  of  sanity  in  our  rhapsodies  than 
in  the  shrewd  calculations  that  verged  toward  meanness. 
Be  this  as  it  may  in  the  abstract,  Van  Berg  regarded  him- 
self as  the  most  rational   man  in  the  city  that  morning. 
He  did  not  try  to  account  for  his  mental  state  by  musty 
and  proverbial   wisdom    or    long- established    principles   of 
psychology.     The  glad,    strong  consciousness  of   his   own 
soul   satisfied    him   and   made   everything  appear  natural. 
Since  he  had  this  strong   and  growing  friendship  for  this 
maiden,   who  was  evidently  pleased  to  come  again  to  his 
studio,  though  so  coy  and  shy  in  admitting  it,  why  should 
he  not  have  it?     There  was  nothing  in  his  creed  against 
such  a  friendship,  and  everything  for  it.     Men  of  talent,  not 
to  mention  genius,  had  ever  sought  inspiration  from  those 
most  capable  of  imparting  it,  and  this  girl's  beauty  and 
character  were   kindling  his  mind  to  that  extent  that  he 
began  to  hope  he  could  now  do  some  of  the  finest  work  of 
his  life.     The  fact  that  he  felt  toward  her  the  strongest 


432  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

friendly  regard  was  in  itself  enough,  and  Yan  Berg  was  too 
good  a  modern  thinker  to  dispute  with  facts,  especially 
agreeable  ones. 

The  practical  outcome  of  the  friendship  which  he  lost  no 
chance  of  manifesting  that  morning,  was  that  Mr.  Mayhew, 
in  an  easy,  informal  manner,  extended  his  invitation,  and 
the  artist  accepted  in  a  way  that  proved  he  was  constrained 
by  something  more  than  courtesy  or  a  sense  of  duty,  and 
Conspirator  Number  Two  walked  down  Broadway  mutter- 
ing (as  do  all  conspirators):  "Those  young  people  are  liable 
to  stumble  into  paradise  at  any  moment. ' ' 

"How  did  you  manage  to  get  through  a  hot  August  day 
in  town  after  you  were  released  from  durance  here  ?' '  asked 
Van  Berg. 

"I  do  not  know  that  it  required  any  special  manage- 
ment," replied  Ida,  demurely.  "I  suppose  you  took  a  nap 
after  your  severe  labors  of  the  morning. " 

"Now  you  are  satirical.  My  labor  was  all  in  the  after- 
noon, for  I  worked  from  the  time  you  left  me  till  dusk." 

"Didn't  you  stop  for  lunch  or  dinner?"  exclaimed  Ida, 
with  surprise. 

"Not  a  moment." 

"Why,  Mr.  Yan  Berg,  what  was  the  matter  with  you? 
It  will  never  do  for  me  to  come  here  and  waste  your  fore- 
noons if  you  try  to  make  up  so  unmercifully  after  I'm 
gone." 

"You  were  indeed  altogether  to  blame.  Some  things, 
like  fine  music  or  a  great  painting  or — it  happened  to  be 
yourself  yesterday — often  cause  what  I  call  my  working 
moods,  when  I  feel  able  to  do  the  best  things  of  which  I'm 
capable.  Not  that  they  are  wonderful  or  ever  will  be— they 
are  simply  my  best  efforts — and  I  assure  you  I'm  not  foolish 
enough  to  waste  such  moments  in  the  prosaic  task  of  eating." 

"I'm  only  a  matter-of-fact  person.  Plain  food  at  regu- 
lar intervals  is  very  essential  to  me." 

He  looked  up  at  her  quickly  and  said:  "Now  you  are 
mentally  laughing  at  me  again.     I  assure  you  I  ate  like  an 


THE   BLIND    GOD  433 

ostrich  after  my  work  was  over.     I  even  upset  the  dignity 
of  an  urbane  Delmonico  waiter." 

Ida  bit  her  lip  as  she  recalled  certain  resemblances  on 
her  own  part  to  that  suggestive  bird,  but  she  said  sympa- 
thetically: "It  must  be  rather  stupid  to  dine  alone  at  a 
restaurant. ' ' 

"I  found  it  insufferably  stupid,  and  I'm  more  grateful 
to  your  father  for  his  invitation  than  you  would  believe." 

Ida  could  scarcely  disguise  her  pleasure,  and  with  mirth- 
ful eyes  she  said: 

"Beally,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  you  place  me  in  quite  a  dilemma. 
I  find  that  in  one  mood  you  do  not  wish  to  eat  at  all,  and 
again  you  say  you  have  the  rather  peculiar  appetite  of  the 
bird  you  named.  Now  I'm  housekeeper  at  present,  and 
scarcely  know  how  to  provide.  What  kind  of  viands  are 
best  adapted  to  artists  and  poets,  and — " 

"And  idiots  in  general,  you  might  conclude,'*  said  Van 
Berg,  laughing.  "After  sitting  so  near  me  at  the  table  all 
summer  you  must  have  noticed  that  nothing  but  ambrosia 
and  nectar  will  serve  my  purpose." 

Ida's  laughing  eyes  suddenly  became  deep  and  dreamy 
as  she  said:  "That  time  seems  ages  ago.     I  cannot  realize 
that  we  are  the  same  people  that  met  so  often  in  Mr.  Bur 
leigh's  dining-room,  and  in  circumstances  that  to  me  were 
often  so  very  dismal.  " 

"Please  remember  that  I  am  not  the  same  person.  I  will 
esteem  it  a  great  favor  if  you  will  leave  the  man  you  saw  at 
that  time  in  the  limbo  of  the  past — the  further  off  the 
better." 

"You  were  rather  distant  then,"  Ida  remarked,  with  a 
piquant  smile. 

"But  am  I  now  ?  Answer  me  that,"  he  said  so  eagerly 
that  she  was  again  mentally  enraged  at  her  tell-tale  color, 
and  she  said  hastily:  "But  where  am  I  to  find  the  ambrosia 
and  nectar  that  you  will  expect  this  evening?" 

"Any  market  can  furnish  the  crude  materials.  It  is  the 
touch  of  the  hostess  that  transmutes  them." 

19— Roe— XII 


434  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

''Alas,"  said  Ida,  "I  never  learned  how  to  cook.  If  I 
should  prepare  your  dinner,  you  would  have  an  awful  mood 
to-morrow,  and  probably  send  for  the  doctor.' ' 

"I  would  need  a  nurse  more  than  a  doctor." 

"I  know  of  an  ancient  woman— a  perfect  Mrs.  Harris," 
said  Ida,  gleefully. 

"Wouldn't  you  come  and  see  me  if  I  were  very  ill?" 

"I  might  call  at  the  door  and  ask  how  you  were,"  she 
replied,  hesitatingly. 

"Now,  Miss  Ida,  the  undertaker  would  do  as  much  as 
that." 

"Our  motives  might  differ  just  a  little,"  she  said,  drop- 
ping her  eyes. 

"Well,"  said  the  artist,  laughing,  "if  you  will  prepare 
the  dinner,  I'll  risk  undertaker,  ancient  woman,  and  all, 
rather  than  spend  such  another  long  stupid  evening  as  I  did 
last  night.  I  expected  to  meet  you  at  the  concert  garden 
again. ' ' 

"That's  strange,"  she  said. 

"I  should  say  rather  that  I  hoped  to  meet  you  and  your 
father  there.     Would  you  have  gone  if  I  had  asked  you  ?' ' 

"I  might." 

"I'll  set  that  down  as  one  of  the  lost  opportunities  of 
life." 

"Why  didn't  you  listen  to  the  music?" 

"Well,  I  didn't.  I  thought  I'd  inflict  my  stupidity  on 
you  for  awhile,  and  came  as  far  as  your  doorsteps  before  I 
remembered  that  I  had  not  been  invited;  so  you  see  what 
a  narrow  escape  you  had. ' ' 

In  spite  of  herself  Ida  could  not  help  appearing  disap- 
pointed as  she  said,  a  little  reproachfully,  "Would  a  friend 
have  waited  for  a  formal  invitation  ?' ' 

"A  friend  did,"  replied  Van  Berg,  regretfully;  "but  he 
won't  again." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that;  my  music  must  have  fright- 
ened you  away." 

"I  listened  until  1  feared  the  police  might  think  I  had 


THE   BLIND    GOD  435 

designs  against  the  house.  I  didn't  know  you  were  a  mu- 
sician. Miss  May  hew,  I'm  always  finding  out  something 
new  about  you,  and  I'm  going  to  ask  you  this  evening  to 
sing  again  for  me  a  ballad,  the  melody  of  which  reminded 
me  of  a  running  brook.  It  took  a  hold  on  my  fancy  and 
has  been  running  in  my  head  ever  since. ' ' 

"Oh,  you  won't  like  that;  it's  a  silly,  sentimental  little 
thing.     I  don't  wonder  you  paused  and  retreated." 

"Spare  me,  Miss  Ida;  I  already  feel  that  it  was  a  faint- 
hearted retreat,  in  which  I  suffered  serious  loss.  I  have 
accounted  for  myself  since  we  parted;  how  did  you  spend 
the  time?  Of  course  you  yawned  over  your  morning's 
fatigue,  and  took  a  long  nap." 

"Indeed  I  did  not  sleep  a  wink.  Why  should  I  be  any 
more  indolent  than  yourself  ?  I  read  most  of  the  afternoon, 
and  drummed  on  the  piano  in  the  evening." 

"I  know  that  I  like  your  drumming,  but  am  not  yet  sure 
about  your  author;  but  he  must  be  an  exceedingly  interest- 
ing one,  to  hold  your  attention  a  long  hot  afternoon." 

Ida  colored  in  sudden  embarrassment,  but  said,  after  a 
moment:  "I  shall  not  gratify  your  curiosity  any  further,  for 
you  would  laugh  at  me  again  if  I  told  you." 

"Now,  indeed,  you  have  piqued  my  curiosity." 

"Since  you,  a  man,  admit  having  so  much  of  this  femi- 
nine weakness,  I  who  am  only  a  woman  may  be  pardoned 
for  showing  just  a  little.  What  work  was  it  that  so  ab- 
sorbed you  yesterday  afternoon  that  you  ceased  to  be  human 
in  your  needs  ?" 

"Miss  May  hew,  you  have  been  laughing  at  me  in  your 
sleeve  ever  since  you  came  this  morning.  I  shall  take  my 
revenge  on  you  at  once  by  heaping  coals  of  fire  on  your 
head,"  and  he  turned  toward  her  a  large  picture,  all  of 
which  was  yet  in  outline,  save  Mr.  Eltinge's  bust  and  face. 

Ida  sprang  down  on  her  knees  before  it,  exclaiming: 
"Oh!  my  dear,  kind  old  friend!  He's  just  speaking  to  me. 
Mr.  Van  Berg,  I'll  now  maintain  you  are  a  genius  against 
all  the  world.     You  have  put  kindness,  love,  fatherhood 


436  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

into  this  race.  You  have  made  it  strong  and  noble,  and 
yet  tender  and  gentle  as  the  man  himself.  I  never  knew 
it  was  possible  for  a  portrait  to  express  so  much,"  and  tears 
of  strong,  grateful  feeling  filled  her  eyes. 

Was  it  success  in  his  art  or  praise  from  her  lips  that 
gave  her  listener  such  an  exquisite  thrill  of  pleasure  ?  He 
did  not  stop  to  consider,  for  he  was  not  in  an  analytical 
mood  at  that  time.  He  was  on  the  crest  of  the  spiritual 
wave  that  was  sweeping  him  heavenward,  or  toward  some 
beatific  state  of  which  he  had  not  dreamed  before.  His  face 
glowed  with  pleasure  as  he  said: 

''Since  it  pleases  you,  it's  no  more  than  justice  that  you 
should  know  that  your  visit  was  the  cause  of  my  success. 
Either  your  laugh  or  your  kind  parting  words  brushed  the 
cobwebs  from  my  mind,  and  I  was  able  to  do  better  work 
in  a  few  hours  than  I  might  have  accomplished  in  weeks." 

She  tried  to  look  at  the  picture  more  closely,  but  fast- 
coming  tears  blinded  her.  Then  she  rose,  and  averting  her 
face  hastily,  wiped  her  eyes,  as  she  said  in  a  low  tone:  "I 
can't  understand  it  at  all,  and  the  memory  of  Mr.  Eltinge's 
kindness  always  overcomes  me.  Please  pardon  my  weak- 
ness. There,  I  won't  waste  any  more  of  your  time,"  and 
she  returned  to  her  chair.  But  her  face  still  wore  the 
uncertainty  of  an  April  day. 

"Your  affection  for  Mr.  Eltinge,"  he  said  gently,  "is  as 
beautiful  as  it  is  natural.  No  manifestation  of  it  needs  any 
apology,  and  least  of  all  to  me,  for  I  owe  to  him  far  more 
than  life.  But  I  am  paining  you  by  recalling  the  past,"  he 
said  regretfully,  as  Ida's  tears  began  to  gather  again.  "Let 
me  try  to  make  amends  by  returning  at  once  to  the  present 
and  to  my  work.  Before  I  go  on  any  further  with  your 
portrait  I  want  you  to  put  this  rosebud  in  your  hair,"  and 
from  a  hidden  nook  he  brought  a  little  vase  containing  only 
one  exquisite  bud.  Ida  had  barely  time  to  see  that  it  was 
in  color  and  size  precisely  like  the  emblem  of  herself  that 
he  had  thrown  away,  and  for  a  few  moments  she  utterly  lost 
her  self-control.     She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  her 


THE   BLIND    GOD  437 

low,  stifled  sobs  filled  Van  Berg  with  the  keenest  distress 
and  perplexity. 

"Miss  Ida,"  he  said  earnestly,  "I  would  rather  every 
tear  you  are  shedding  were  a  drop  of  my  blood, ' '  but  his 
words  only  made  them  flow  faster  still. 

Suddenly  she  sprang  up,  and  turning  her  back  upon 
him,  dashed  away  her  tears  almost  fiercely.  "Oh!  this  is 
shameful!"  she  exclaimed,  in  low,  indignant  tones.  "Mr. 
Yan  Berg,  what  must  you  think  of  me  ?  Please  turn 
Mr.  Eltinge's  face  away,  for  he  is  looking  at  me  just  as 
he  did  when  my  heart  was  breaking,  and — and — I've  lost 
my  self-control,  and  I  had  better  not  come  here  till  I  can 
cease  being  so  weak  and  foolish." 

"Is  it  weak  to  be  grateful?"  he  asked,  gently.  "Is  it 
foolish  to  love  one  so  thoroughly  entitled  to  your  love? 
I  honor  you  for  your  deep  and  tender  affection  for  Mr. 
Eltinge,  and  every  tear  you  have  shed  proves  to  me  that 
in  this  perfect  flower  I  am  now  finding  the  true  emblem 
of  yourself." 

"No,"  she  said,  almost  passionately,  "I  have  no  right 
to  it.  The  other  one  that  you  threw  away  is  true  of  me, 
and  always  will  be.  This  but  mocks  me  with  its  perfection, 
I  would  be  a  hypocrite  if  I  should  put  it  in  my  hair,  and 
smile  complacently  while  you  painted  it.  My  heart  clings 
to  the  other  emblem,  and  I  know  I  must  develop  as  best  I 
can,  as  that  would  have  done  after  its  destroyer  was  taken 
away.  No,  Mr.  Van  Berg.  I  have  seen  myself  in  the 
strong,  sharp  light  of  truth.  If  you  are  willing  to  be  my 
friend,  please  be  an  honest  one.  My  faithful  old  friend  in 
the  country  would  scarcely  take  my  portrait  if  this  perfect 
flower  were  introduced  with  any  such  meaning  as  you  at- 
tach to  it,  and  I  certainly  would  be  ashamed  to  give  it  to 
him.  Mr.  Van  Berg,  we  must  let  bygones  be  bygones,  or 
we  never  can  get  on.  See  how  absurdly  I  have  acted  both 
yesterday  and  to-day,  and  all  through  recalling  the  past. 
Indeed,  indeed,  it  will  never  do  for  me  to  come  here  again, 
and  if  you  can  make   such  a  marvellous   likeness  of   Mr. 


438  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

Eltinge  as  you  have,  I  scarcely  think  there  will  be  any 
need." 

"My  success  with  Mr.  Eltinge's  portrait  is  the  result  of 
a  few  happy  strokes  that  I  might  not  be  able  to  give  again 
if  I  tried  a  year.  Believe  me,  Miss  May  hew,  I  not  only 
wish  to  be  an  honest  friend,  but  a  very  considerate  one. 
I  promise  never  to  urge  you  to  do  anything  that  will  cause 
you  pain.  I  can  understand  how  the  features  of  your  kind 
friend  have  touched  the  tenderest  chords  of  your  heart,  and 
I  respect  your  sturdy  fidelity  to  your  conscience  in  refusing 
to  let  me  paint  this  bud  in  your  hair;  but  you  must  also  do 
me  the  justice  to  believe  that  I  meant  no  hollow  compliment 
when  I  searched  for  it  among  the  florists.  Must  I  throw  this 
one  away,  too  ?' '  he  asked,  with  a  glance  that  was  very  ar- 
dent for  a  friend;  "for  since  I  obtained  it  for  you,  it  must 
receive  its  fate  at  your  hands  only. ' ' 

"I'll  wear  it,  simply  as  your  gift,  with  pleasure,"  and 
she  fastened  it  in  her  breastpin,  so  that  its  crimson  blush 
rested  against  the  snowy  whiteness  of  her  neck. 

He  looked  her  full  in  the  eyes  as  he  said,  earnestly,  "It 
is  still  the  emblem  of  one  thing,  and  you  cannot  help 
it — of  my  respect  for  you." 

Her  eyes  fell  guiltily,  and  the  color  deepened  in  her  face 
as  she  turned  hastily  away,  and  said,  with  low,  sad  empha- 
sis: "I  do  not  deserve  such  respect."  Then  the  knowledge 
that  she  was  harboring  a  purpose  which  troubled  her  con- 
science, but  which  she  could  not  abandon,  became  the  cause 
of  a  trace  of  her  old  recklessness  of  manner.  She  assumed 
a  sudden  gayety,  as  if  she  had  stepped  out  of  shadows  into 
too  strong  a  light,  as  she  said: 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  you  may  well  hesitate  to  bring  the  appe- 
tite you  say  you  had  last  night  to  our  house  this  evening, 
and  if  I  stay  a  moment  longer,  you  will  get  no  dinner  at 
all.  I  have  not  been  after  the  crude  material — as  you  call 
it — yet,  and  I'm  told  that  there  is  not  a  man  living  so  amia- 
ble or  philosophical,  but  that  a  poor  dinner  provokes  a 
martyr- like  expression,  if  nothing  worse;"  and  with  a  smile 


THE   BLIND    GOD  439 

and  piquancy  of  manner  that  seemed  peculiarly  brilliant 
against  the  background  of  her  deep  and  repressed  feeling, 
she  again  left  him. 

He  tried  to  return  to  his  work,  but  found  himself  once 
more  possessed   by  the  demon  of  unrest  and  impatience. 
The  spiritual  wave  that  had  been  lifting  him  higher  and 
higher  was  changing  its  character  and  becoming  a  smoothly 
gliding  current.    It  was  so  irresistible  that  he  never  thought 
of   resisting.     Why   should    he  resist?   he   asked   himself. 
Circumstances  had  interested  him  in  this  rare  Undine  before 
she  received  a  woman's  soul;  circumstances  had  entangled 
his  life  and  hers  in  what  had  almost  been  an  awful  tragedy; 
and   now   circumstances,    or  something   far   beyond,   were 
swiftly  developing   before   his  eyes  a   spiritual   loveliness 
that  was  the  counterpart  of  her  outward  beauty,  and  he 
assured  himself  that  it  would  be  the  greatest  folly  of  his 
life  to  lose  a  trace  of  the  exquisite  process  that  he  might  be 
privileged  to  see.     What  artist  or  poet  has  not  pictured  to 
himself  the  fair  face  of  Eve  as  God  first  breathed  into  her 
perfect  clay  the  breath  of  life,  or  has  not,  in  imagination, 
seen  the  closed  eyes  opening  in  surprise  and  intelligence 
or  kindling  with  the  light  of  love  ?     And  yet  the  change  in 
Ida  Mayhew  seemed  to  Van  Berg  far  more  wonderful  and 
interesting;  and   to   his  fancy  if,   instead  of  lying  in   the 
beauty  of  her  breathless,  statuesque  preparation  for  life, 
Eve  had  been  possessed  by  a  legion  of  distorting  imps,  she 
would  have  been  the  type  of  the  maiden  he  first  had  recog- 
nized.    But  he  had  seen  these  evil  spirits  exorcised,  and  in 
their  place  was  coming  a  noble,  womanly  soul — sweet,  ten- 
der, and  strong — and  the  perfect  form  and  features  seemed 
but  a  transparent  mould,  a  crystal  vase  into  which  heaven 
was  pouring  a  new  and  divine  life.     Why  should  he  not  long 
to  escape  from  the  dusty,  matter-of-fact  world  and  witness 
this  spiritual  repetition  of  the  most  beautiful  story  of  the 
past?    Thus  his  philosophical  mind  was  able  once  more  to 
reason  the  whole  matter  out  clearly  and  prove  that  his  wish 
to  annihilate  the  intervening  hours  before  he  could  dare  to 


440  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

present  himself  to  Ida  Mayhew,  was  the  most  natural  and 
proper  desire  imaginable.  He  concluded  that  a  walk  through 
Central  Park  might  banish  his  disquietude,  and  leave  time 
for  a  careful  toilet,  since  for  some  occult  reason  the  occa- 
sion seemed  to  him  to  require  unusual  preparation. 

He  knew  he  was  unfashionably  early  when  he  rang  Mr. 
Mayhew's  doorbell,  but  he  had  found  it  impossible  to  curb 
his  impatience  to  see  in  what  new  aspect  Ida  would  present 
herself  that  evening.  A  hundred  times  he  had  queried  how 
she  would  appear  in  her  own  home,  how  she  would  preside 
as  hostess,  and  whether  the  taste  of  the  florid  and  fashion- 
able mother  would  not  be  so  apparent  as  to  annoy  him  like 
a  bad  tone  in  the  picture.  Yes,  that  was  Mrs.  Mayhew's 
parlor  into  which  he  was  shown.  It  did  not  suggest  the 
maiden  he  had  come  to  visit,  nor  the  quiet,  dignified  gentle- 
man Mr.  Mayhew  was  seen  to  be  when  at  the  touch  of  love's 
wand  a  degrading  vice  fell  away  from  him.  But  the  artist 
could  find  no  fault  with  the  host  who  greeted  him  promptly, 
and  when,  a  few  moments  later,  there  was  a  breezy  rustle 
on  the  stairs  and  he  turned  to  greet  his  hostess,  his  face 
flashed  with  admiration  and  pleasure.  It  became  evident 
that  the  worshipper  of  beauty  was  in  the  presence  of  his 
divinity,  and  his  every  glance  burned  incense  to  her  honor. 
She  had  twined  a  few  rose-leaves  in  her  hair,  but  wore  no 
other  ornament  save  the  rose  he  had  given  her  in  the  morning, 
which  evidently  had  been  kept  carefully  for  the  occasion, 
for  it  was  unchanged,  with  the  exception  that  it  revealed 
its  heart  a  little  more  openly,  as  did  Ida  herself.  And  yet 
she  did  her  best  to  insure  that  her  manner  should  be  no 
more  cordial  than  her  character  of  hostess  demanded. 

But  in  spite  of  all  she  could  do,  the  light  of  exultation 
and  intense  joy  would  flash  into  her  eyes  and  tremble  in 
her  tones  that  evening.  A  maiden  would  have  been  blind 
indeed  had  she  not  been  able  to  read  the  riddle  of  Yan 
Berg's  ardent  friendship  now,  and  Ida  had  seen  that  ex- 
pression too  often  not  to  know  its  meaning  well.  In  the 
morning  she  had  strongly  hoped,  now  she  believed.     She 


THE   BLIND    GOD  441 

no  longer  walked  by  faith  but  in  full  vision,  and  she  trod 
with  the  grace  of  a  queen  who  knows  her  power  in  the 
realm  that  woman  loves  best.  The  glow  of  her  eyes,  her 
repressed  excitement,  that  vitalized  everything  she  said  or 
did,  mystified  while  they  charmed  her  guest.  "She  has  be- 
come true  to  nature,"  he  thought,  "and  like  nature  is  full 
of  mysterious  changes,  for  which  we  know  not  the  cause. 
At  one  time  it  is  a  sharp  north  wind,  again  the  south  wind. 
This  morning  there  was  a  sudden  shower  of  tears,  and  be- 
iore  it  was  over  the  sunlight  of  smiles  flashed  through 
them.  Now  she  appears  like  a  June  morning,  and  I  pray 
the  weather  holds." 

"Oh,"  thought  Ida,  in  the  wild,  mad  glee  of  her  heart, 
llhow  can  I  behave  myself  and  look  innocent  and  uncon- 
scious, seeing  what  I  do  ?  He  is  my  very  good  friend  is 
he?  I  wish  for  only  one  such  friend  in  the  world.  It 
wouldn't  be  proper  to  have  another.  Oh,  but  isn't  it  rich 
to  see  how  unconscious  he  is  of  himself !  He  is  passing  into 
an  exceedingly  acute  attack  of  my  own  complaint,  and  the 
poor  man  doesn't  know  what  is  the  matter.  I  don't  believe 
he  ever  looked  at  Jennie  Burton  as  he  looks  at  me.  Ah, 
Jennie  Burton!"  The  joyousness  suddenly  faded  out  of  her 
face  and  she  sighed  deeply.  It  seemed  to  Yan  Berg  for 
a  time  that  his  June  morning  might  become  clouded  after 
all,  but  while  his  face  was  turned  toward  her  with  the  ex- 
pression it  now  wore  no  sad  thoughts  or  forebodings  could 
shadow  Ida  very  long. 


442  A   FACE  ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  L 

SWEPT     AWAY 

THERE  was  no  vulgar  profusion  in  the  dinner  which 
Ida  had  ordered,  nor  were  its  courses  interminable; 
and  as  she  gracefully  and  quietly  directed  every- 
thing, the  thought  would  keep  insinuating  itself  in  Van 
Berg's  mind,  that  the  home  over  which  she  might  eventually 
preside  would  be  a  near  suburb  of  Paradise.  He  heartily 
seconded  Ida's  purpose  that  her  father  should  take  part  in 
their  conversation,  and  it  was  another  deep  source  of  her 
gladness  that  the  one  whom  she  had  seen  so  depressed  and 
despairing,  now  looked  as  she  would  always  wish  him  to 
appear.  "Oh,  it's  too  good  to  last,"  she  sighed,  as  her 
heart  fairly  ached  with  its  excess  of  joy. 

After  dinner  Mr.  May  hew  asked  Van  Berg  to  light  a 
cigar  with  him  in  his  study,  but  the  artist  declined  and  fol- 
lowed Ida  to  the  parlor. 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,"  she  said,  with  a  great  show  of  sur- 
prise, "how  is  it  you  don't  smoke  this  evening?  It  seemed 
to  me  that  you  and  Cousin  Ik  were  drawn  to  a  certain 
corner  of  Mr.  Burleigh's  piazza  with  the  certainty  of  gravi- 
tation after  dinner,  and  then  you  were  lost  in  the  clouds." 

"On  this  occasion  I  have  taken  my  choice  of  pleasures 
and  have  followed  you. ' ' 

"This  is  a  proud  moment  for  me,"  she  said,  with  a  mirth- 
ful twinkle  in  her  eyes.  "I  never  expected  to  rival  a  gen- 
tleman's cigar,  and  I  don't  think  I  ever  did  before." 

"Another  proof  of  my  friendship,  Miss  Ida." 


SWEPT   AWAY  443 

"Yes,"  she  replied  demurely,  "an  act  like  this  goes  a 
good  way  toward  making  me  believe  you  are  sincere." 

"Miss  Ida,  you  are  always  laughing  at  me.  I  wish  I 
could  find  some  way  to  get  even  with  you,  and  I  will  too." 

"You  do  me  injustice.  I,  in  turn,  will  lay  an  offering 
on  the  altar  of  friendship  and  will  go  with  you  this  evening 
to  the  concert  garden. ' ' 

"I  thank  you  exceedingly,  but  will  leave  the  offering 
on  the  altar,  if  you  will  permit  me.  I  would  much  rather 
remain  in  your  parlor." 

"Why,  Mr.  Yan  Berg,  you  are  bent  on  being  a  martyr 
for  my  sake  this  evening." 

"Yes,  wholly  bent  upon  it." 

"How  amiable  gentlemen  are  after  dinner!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "But  where  was  your  appetite  this  evening? 
Clearly  our  cook  knows  nothing  of  the  preparation  of  am- 
brosia nor  I  of  nectar,  although  1  made  the  coffee  myself." 

"Did  you?  That  accounts  for  its  divine  flavor.  Don't 
you  remember  I  took  two  cups?" 

"I  saw  that  your  politeness  led  you  to  send  me  your  cup 
a  second  time.  I  suppose  you  accomplished  a  vast  deal 
again  to-day  after  you  were  once  finally  rid  of  an  embodi- 
ment of  April  weather?" 

"1  would  lose  your  respect  altogether  if  I  should  tell  you 
how  I  have  spent  the  afternoon.  You  would  think  me  an 
absurd  jumble  of  moods  and  tenses.  I  may  as  well  own  up, 
I  suppose.  I  have  done  nothing  but  kill  time,  and  to  that 
end  I  took  a  walk  through  Central  Park." 

"This  hot  afternoon!  Mr.  Van  Berg,  what  possessed 
you?" 

"A  demon  of  impatience.  It  seemed  as  if  old  Joshua 
had  commanded  the  sun  to  stand  still  again. " 

"You  must  indeed  be  a  genius,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  for  I've 
always  heard  that  the  peculiarly  gifted  were  full  of  unac- 
countable moods." 

"I  understand  the  satire  of  your  expression  'peculiarly 
gifted,'  but  my  turn  will  come  before  the  evening  is  over," 


444  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

and  he  leaned  luxuriously  back  against  the  sofa  cushion 
with  a  look  of  infinite  content  with  the  prospect  before 
him.  "Bless  me,  what  is  thig  over  which  I  have  half  broken 
my  back, ' '  he  exclaimed,  and  he  dragged  out  of  its  partial 
concealment  a  huge  volume. 

"Please  let  me  take  that  out  of  your  way,"  said  Ida, 
stepping  hastily  forward  with  crimson  cheeks. 

"Don't  trouble  yourself,  Miss  May  hew;  fortune  is  favor- 
ing me  once  more,  and  I  am  on  the  point  of  discovering  the 
favorite  author  you  would  not  mention  this  morning.  An 
encyclopaedia,  as  I  live!  from  A  to  B,  with  a  hairpin  in- 
serted sharply  at  the  word  Amsterdam.  Eeally,  Miss  Ida, 
I  can't  account  for  your  absorbing  interest  in  Amsterdam." 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  there  is  no  use  in  trying  to  hide  any- 
thing from  you.  You  find  me  out  every  time  and  I'm  really 
growing  superstitious  about  it." 

"I  wish  your  words  were  true;  but,  for  the  life  of  me, 
I  can't  understand  why  you  should  crave  encyclopaedias  as 
August  reading,  nor  can  I  see  the  remotest  connection  be- 
tween the  exquisite  color  of  your  face  and  the  old  Dutch 
city  of  Amsterdam." 

"Well,  the  Fates  are  against  me  once  more.  Why  I  left 
that  book  there  I  don't  know,  for  I'm  not  usually  so  care- 
less. Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  scarcely  need  remind  you  of  a  fact 
that  you  discovered  long  ago — I  don't  know  anything. 
Do  you  not  remember  how  you  tried  to  talk  with  me  one 
evening  ?  You  touched  on  almost  as  many  subjects  as  that 
huge  volume  contains,  and  my  face  remained  as  vacant 
through  them  all  as  the  blank  pages  in  that  book  before 
the  printed  matter  begins." 

"But  now,  Miss  Ida,  your  face  is  to  me  like  this  book 
after  the  printed  matter  begins,  only  1  read  there  that  which 
interests  me  far  more  than  anything  which  this  bulky  tome 
contains,  even  under  the  word  Amsterdam." 

"You  imagine  far  more  than  you  see.  "I  think  artists 
are  like  poets,  and  are  given  to  great  flights.  Besides,  you 
are  becoming  versed  in  my  small  talk.     When  you  tried 


SWEPT   AWAY  445 

it  on  the  evening  I  referred  to,  you  were  just  a  trifle 
ponderous." 

11  Yes,  I  can  now  see  myself  performing  like  a  lame  ele- 
phant. Did  you  propose  to  read  this  encyclopaedia  entirely 
through?" 

"I  might  have  skipped  art  as  a  subject  far  too  deep  for 

me." 

11  When  you  come  to  that  let  me  take  the  place  of  the 
encyclopaedia.  I  will  sit  just  here  where  you  keep  your 
book  and  give  you  a  series  of  familiar  lectures." 

44 1  never  enjoyed  being  lectured,  sir!" 

14 Then  I'll  teach  you  after  the  Socratic  method,  and  ask 
you  questions." 

44I  fear  some  of  them  might  be  too  personal.  You  have 
such  a  mania  for  solving  everything." 

14  And  did  you  fear  that  at  some  of  the  many  sittings  I 
shall  need  this  fall  I  might  again  broach  every  subject 
under  the  sun,  and  so  you  were  led  to  read  an  encyclo- 
paedia to  be  prepared?" 

"Is  that  what  you  mean  by  the  Socratic  method  ?  I  de- 
cline any  lessons  concerning  art  or  anything  else  on  that 
plan,  for  you  would  find  out  everything." 

"I  shall,  anyway.  How  long  ago  it  seems  since  we  took 
that  stupid  walk  together  on  Mr.  Burleigh's  piazza!  We 
are  nearer  together  now,  Miss  Ida,  than  we  were  then." 

44 Oh!  no,  indeed,"  she  replied,  quickly;  44I  had  your 
arm  on  that  occasion." 

44  But  you  have  my  sincere  friendship  and  respect  now. 
I  can't  tell  you  how  pleased  I  was  when  I  saw  how  you  had 
honored  the  little  emblematic  flower  I  gave  you  this  morn- 
ing. That  you  wear  it  to-night  as  your  only  ornament  gives 
me  hope  that  you  do  value  my  respect  and  regard." 

44I  think  I  had  better  let  the  rosebud  answer  you,  and 
I  confess  I  like  to  think  how  perfect  it  is  when  I  remember 
the  meaning  you  gave  to  it,  though  how  you  can  respect 
me  at  all  I  cannot  understand.  Still,  I  am  like  father- 
next  to  God's  favor  the  respect  of  those  I  esteem  does  most 


446  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

to  sustain  and  reassure  me.  But,  oh  I  Mr.  Van  Berg,  you 
can't  know  what  an  honest  sense  of  ill-desert  I  have.  It  is 
so  hard  just  to  do  right,  no  matter  what  the  consequences 
may  be." 

"The  trouble  with  me  is  that  I  am  not  trying  as  you 
are.  But  I  know,  with  absolute  certainty,  that  the  strong- 
est impulse  of  true  friendship,  or  at  least  of  mine,  in  this 
instance,  is  to  render  some  service  to  my  friend.  You  will 
make  me  very  happy  if  you  will  tell  me  of  something  I  can 
do  for  you. ' ' 

41  You  are  helping  me  very  much  in  your  manner  toward 
father,  and  I  do  thank  you  from  the  very  depths  of  my 
heart.  In  no  way  could  you  have  won  from  me  a  deeper 
gratitude.  And — well — your  kindness  almost  tempts  me  to 
ask  another  favor,  Mr.  Van  Berg." 

He  sprang  to  her  side  and  took  her  hand. 

Quickly  withdrawing  it,  she  said  with  a  little  decisive 
nod:  "You  must  sit  down  and  sit  still,  for  I  have  a  long, 
tiresome  story  to  tell,  and  a  very  prosaic  favor  to  ask;"  for 
she  had  resolved,  "He  shall  go  forward  now  with  his  eyes 
open,  and  he  shall  never  say  I  won  him  by  seeming  what 
I  was  not.  If  I  can't  deal  right  by  Jennie  Burton,  I  will 
by  him." 

"I  shall  find  no  service  prosaic;  see,  I'm  all  attention," 
and  he  did  look  very  eager  indeed. 

"That  encyclopedia  suggests  my  story,  and  I  may  have 
to  refer  incidentally  to  myself. " 

"Leave  the  book  out;  I'll  listen  for  ages." 

"I  should  be  out  of  breath  before  that.  Mr.  Van  Berg, 
I'm  in  earnest;  I  don't  know  anything  worth  knowing.  My 
life  has  been  worse  than  wasted,  and  the  only  two  things  I 
understand  well  are  dancing  and  flirting.  Now  I  know  you 
are  disgusted,  but  it's  the  truth.  My  old,  fashionable  life 
seems  to  me  like  the  tawdry  scenes  of  a  second-rate  theatre, 
where  everything  is  for  effect  and  nothing  is  real.  I  have 
hosts  of  acquaintances,  but  I  haven't  any  friends  except 
Mr.  Eltinge." 


SWEPT   AWAY  447 

"And  Harold  Van  Berg,"  put  in  the  artist,  promptly. 
"It's  good  of  you  to  say  that  after  such  confessions," 
she  continued,  with  a  shy  glance.  "L  hope  it  wasn't  out 
of  politeness.  Well,  I've  waked  up  at  last.  I  think  you 
first  startled  me  out  of  my  insufferable  stupidity  and  silliness 
at  the  concert  garden,  and  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you 
for  the  remark  you  made  to  Cousin  Ik  on  that  occasion." 

lYes,  I  remember,"  Van  Berg  groaned.  "I  waked  you 
up  as  if  I  were  trying  to  put  your  shoulder  out  of  joint. 
Well,  I'm  waking  up  also." 

"  You  have  no  idea  what  a  perfect  sham  of  a  life  I  led," 
and  she  told  him  frankly  of  her  wasted  school-days  and  of 
her  trip  abroad,  for  which  she  had  no  preparation  of  mind 
or  character.  "A  butterfly  might  have  flown  over  the  same 
ground  and  come  back  just  as  wise,"  she  said.  "But  I 
have  suddenly  entered  a  new  world  of  truth  and  duty,  and 
I  am  bewildered;  I  am  anxious  to  fit  myself  for  the  society 
of  sensible,  cultivated  people,  and  I  am  discouraged  by  the 
task  before  me.  I  went  to  father's  library  yesterday  and 
was  perfectly  appalled  by  the  number  of  books  and  subjects 
that  I  know  nothing  about.  The  fact  that  I  stumbled  into 
that  encyclopaedia,  which  gave  you  the  laugh  against  me, 
shows  how  helpless  I  am.  Indeed,  I'm  like  a  little  child 
trying  to  find  its  way  through  a  wilderness  of  knowledge. 
I  blundered  on  as  far  as  Amsterdam,  and  there  I  stopped 
in  despair.  I  didn't  know  what  was  before  me,  and  I  was 
getting  everything  I  had  been  over  confused  and  mixed  up 
in  my  mind.  And  now,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  with  your  thorough 
education  and  wide  experience  you  can  tell  me  what  to  read 
and  how  to  read." 

Van  Berg's  face  was  fairly  alive  with  interest,  and  he 
said  eagerly:  ltThe  favor  you  ask  suggests  a  far  greater 
one  on  my  part.  Let  me  go  with  you  through  this  wilder- 
ness of  knowledge.  We  can  take  up  courses  of  reading 
together." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Mayhew  entered,  and  the  artist  hesi- 
tated to  go  on  with  his  far-reaching  offers,  and,  indeed,  he 


448  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

suddenly  began  to  realize,  with  some  embarrassment,  how 
much  they  did  involve. 

But  Ida  maintained  her  presence  of  mind,  and  said,  sim- 
ply: ''That  would  be  impossible,  though  no  doubt  exceed- 
ingly helpful  to  me.  Here,  as  in  the  instance  of  the  pic- 
tures, your  good-nature  and  kindness  carry  you  far  beyond 
what  I  ever  dreamed  of  asking.  I  merely  thought  that  in 
some  of  your  moments  of  leisure  you  could  jot  down  some 
books  and  subjects  that  would  be  the  same  as  if  you  had 
pointed  out  smooth  and  shady  paths.  You  see,  in  my  igno- 
rance, I've  tried  to  push  my  way  through  the  wilderness 
straight  across  everything.  Last  evening  I  pestered  father 
with  so  many  questions  about  politics  and  the  topics  of  the 
day,  that  he  thought  I  had  lost  my  wits. ' ' 

Mr.  Mayhew  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed  heart- 
ily, as  he  mentally  ejaculated:  "Well  done,  little  girl!" 

"I  will  brush  up  my  literary  ideas,  and  do  the  best  I  can, 
very  gladly,"  said  Van  Berg.  "But  you  greatly  underrate 
yourself  and  overrate  my  ability.  I  am  still  but  on  the 
edge  of  this  wilderness  of  knowledge  myself,  and  in  cross- 
ing a  wilderness  one  likes  company. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  could  never  keep  up  with  your  manly  strides," 
said  Ida,  with  a  sudden  trill  of  laughter.  "Having  secured 
my  wish,  I  shall  now  reward  you  with  some  very  poor 
music,  which  will  suggest  my  need  of  lessons  in  that 
direction  also." 

Van  Berg  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  she  never 
could  become  a  great  musician,  no  matter  how  many  les- 
sons she  had.  But  she  played  with  taste  and  a  graceful 
rhythm,  which  proved  that  music  in  its  simpler  forms  might 
become  a  language  by  which  she  could  express  her  thought 
and  feeling. 

"Ida,"  said  Mr.  Mayhew,  a  little  abruptly,  "I  wish  to 
see  a  friend  at  the  club.  I'll  be  back  before  the  evening 
is  over." 

"Please  don't  stay  long,"  Ida  answered,  looking  wist- 
fully after  him. 


SWEPT   AWAY  449 

Then  they  found  some  ballad- music  that  they  could  sing 
together,  and  Van  Berg  expressed  great  pleasure  in  finding 
how  well  their  voices  blended. 

"You  have  modestly  kept  quiet  all  summer,  and  I  am 
just  rinding  out  that  you  play  and  sing,"  he  said. 

MI  would  not  have  the  confidence  to  do  either  at  a  hotel. 
I  shall  never  be  able  to  do  any  more  than  furnish  a  little 
simple  home  music  to  friends,  not  critics." 

"I'm  content  with  that  arrangement,  for  I  have  finally 
dropped  my  character  of  critic. ' ' 

"But  true  friends  never  flatter,"  she  said.  "If  you  won't 
help  me  overcome  my  faults  I  shall  have  to  find  another 
friend." 

"As  you  recommended  an  ancient  woman  as  nurse,  so  I 
will  recommend  the  venerable  friend  you  have  already 
found,  and  ask  you  to  let  him  do  all  the  fault-finding." 

She  turned  to  him  and  said  earnestly:  "Mr.  Van  Berg, 
are  you  not  a  sufficiently  sincere  friend  to  tell  me  my 
faults?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Ida,  if  you  ask  me  to." 

"Only  as  you  do  so  can  you  keep  my  respect.'" 

"You  are  very  much  in  earnest.  I  never  saw  greater 
fidelity  to  conscience  before;  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  if, 
for  any  cause,  your  conscience  were  arrayed  against  me." 

She  suddenly  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  trembled. 
Then  turning  from  him  to  her  piano  again  she  faltered:  "I 
disregarded  conscience  once  and  I  suffered  deeply,"  and  in 
the  depths  of  her  soul  she  added,  "and  I  fear  I  shall 
again." 

"Miss  Ida,"  he  said,  impetuously,  "I  cannot  tell  you 
what  a  fascination  your  new,  beautiful  life  has  for  me  as 
seen  against  the  dark  background  of  memories  which  neither 
you  nor  I  can  ever  wholly  banish.  But  I  am  causing  you 
pain  now,"  for  she  became  very  pale,  as  was  ever  the  case 
when  there  was  the  faintest  allusion  to  the  awful  crime 
which  she  had  contemplated.  "Forgive  me,"  he  added 
earnestly,  "and  sing,  please,  that  little  meadow- brook  song, 


450  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

of  which  I  caught  a  few  bars  last  evening.  That,  I  think, 
must  contain  an  antidote  against  all  morbid  thoughts." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  she  said.  "It's  very  silly  and 
sentimental;   you  won't  like  it." 

"Nevertheless  please  sing  it,  for  if  not  to  my  taste,  you 
will  prevent  its  running  in  my  head  any  longer,  as  it  has 
ever  since  I  heard  it. ' ' 

"You  will  never  ask  for  it  again,"  she  said,  and  she 
sang  the  following  words  to  a  low-gliding  melody  designed 
to  suggest  the  murmur  of  a  small  stream: 

'Twas  down  in  a  meadow,  close  by  a  brook, 
A  violet  bloomed  in  a  shadowy  nook. 
She  gazed  at  the  rill  with  a  wistful  eye — 
"He  cares  not  for  me,  he's  hastening  by," 

She  sighed. 

In  sunshine  and  shade  the  brook  sped  along, 

Nor  ceased  for  a  moment  his  gurgling  song. 

"  'T would  sing  all  the  same  were  I  withered  and  dead"-= 

And  the  blue -eyed  violet  bowed  her  head 

And  died. 

But  the  rill  and  the  song  went  on  the  same 
Till  the  pitiless  frost  of  winter  came, 
When  the  song  was  hushed  in  an  icy  chill, 
And  the  gay  little  brook  at  last  stood  still 

And  thought— 

4 'Oh,  could  I  now  see  the  violet  blue 
That  looked  at  me  once  with  eyes  of  dew, 
I'd  spring  to  her  feet  and  lingering  stay 
Till  sure  I  was  bearing  her  love  away, 

Well  sought. " 

The  song  seemed  to  disturb  the  artist  somewhat.  "The 
stupid  brook!"  he  exclaimed.  "It  was  so  stupid  as  to  be 
almost  human." 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't  like  it,"  she  said,  looking  up  at 
him  in  surprise. 

"I  like  your  singing  and  the  music,  but  that  brook  pro- 
vokes me,  the  little  idiot!     Why  didn't  it  stop  before?" 

"I  take  the  brook's  part,"  said  Ida.     "Because  the  vio- 


SWEPT   AWAY  451 

let  gazed  at  it  in  a  lackadaisical  way  was  no  reason  for  its 
stopping  unless  it  wanted  to.  Indeed,  if  I  were  the  violet 
I  should  want  the  brook  to  go  on,  unless  it  couldn't  help 
stopping." 

"It  did  stop  when  it  couldn't  help  itself,  and  then  it  was 
too  late,"  said  Van  Berg,  with  a  frown. 

Ida  trilled  out  one  of  her  sudden  laughs,  as  she  said, 
"Don't  take  the  matter  so  to  heart,  Mr.  Van  Berg.  When 
spring  came  the  brook  went  on  as  merrily  as  ever,  and  was 
well  contented  to  have  other  violets  look  at  it." 

"Miss  Ida,  you  are  a  witch,"  said  the  artist,  and  with  an 
odd,  involuntary  gesture  he  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow 
as  if  to  brush  away  a  mist  or  film  from  his  mind. 

"Oh!"  thought  Ida,  with  passionate  longing,  "may  my 
spells  hold,  or  else  I  may  feel  like  following  the  example  of 
the  silly  little  violet."  But  she  pirouetted  up  to  her  father, 
who  was  just  entering,  and  said:  "It's  time  you  came, 
father.     Mr.  Van  Berg  has  begun  calling  me  names." 

tlI  shall  follow  his  example  by  calling  you  my  good 
fairy.  Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  have  been  in  paradise  all  the 
week." 

"I  shall  not  join  this  mutual  admiration  society,  and 
I  insist  that  you  two  gentlemen  talk  in  a  sensible  way." 

But  Van  Berg  seemed  to  find  it  difficult  to  come  down 
to  a  matter-of-fact  conversation  with  Mr.  Mayhew,  and  soon 
after  took  his  leave.  Before  going  he  tried  to  induce  Ida 
to  come  to  the  studio  again,  but  she  declined,  saying: 

"Mother  has  intrusted  to  me  several  commissions,  and 
I  must  attend  to  them  to-morrow  morning.  As  it  is,  my 
conscience  troubles  me  very  much  that  I  have  left  her  alone 
all  the  week,  and  I  shall  try  to  make  all  the  amends  I  can 
by  getting  what  she  wishes." 

"Oh,  your  terrible  conscience!"  he  said. 

"Yes,  it  has  been  scolding  me  all  day  for  wasting  so 
much  of  your  time.  Now  don't  burden  yours  with  any 
denials.     Good-night." 

He  turned  eagerly  to  protest  against  her  words,  but  she 


452  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

was  retreating  rapidly;  she  gave  him  a  smile  over  her  shoul- 
der, however,  that  was  at  once  full  of  mirth  and  something 
more — something  that  he  could  not  explain  or  grasp  any 
more  than  he  could  the  soft,  silvery  light  of  the  moon  that 
filled  the  sky,  and  was  as  real  as  it  was  intangible.  He 
walked  away  as  if  in  a  dream;  he  continued  his  aimless 
wanderings  for  hours,  but  swift  as  were  his  strides  a  swifter 
current  of  passion,  deep  and  strong,  was  sweeping  him  away 
from  Jennie  Burton  and  the  power  to  make  good  his  open 
pledge  to  win  her  if  he  could.  He  still  was  dreaming,  he 
still  was  lost  in  the  luminous  mists  of  his  own  imagination. 
But  the  hour  of  waking  and  clear  vision  was  drawing  near, 
and  Harold  Van  Berg  would  learn  anew  that  the  cool,  well- 
balanced  reason  on  which  he  had  once  so  prided  himself  was 
scarcely  equal  to  all  the  questions  which  complex  human 
life  presents. 


FROM    DEEP   EXPERIENCE  453 


\ 


CHAPTER  LI 

FROM   DEEP   EXPERIENCE 

WITH  the  night,  dreams  began  to  vanish  and  the 
prose  of  reality  gradually  to  take  form  and  out- 
line in  Van  Berg's  mind.  He  was  compelled  to 
admit  that  the  plausible  theories  by  which  he  had  hitherto 
satisfied  himself  scarcely  accounted  for  his  moods  and  sen- 
sations the  past  few  days,  and  memory  quietly  informed 
him  that  it  had  never  had  any  consciousness  of  such  a 
friendship  as  he  now  was  forming.  But  like  many  another 
man  in  the  process  of  conviction  against  his  will,  he  became 
irritable  and  angrily  blind  to  a  truth  that  would  place 
him  in  an  intolerable  dilemma.  He  went  to  his  studio,  and 
worked  with  dogged  obstinacy  on  the  picture  designed  for 
Ida,  giving  his  time  to  those  details  which  required  only 
artistic  skill,  for  his  perturbed  mind  was  in  no  mood  for 
any  nice  creative  work. 

He  had  agreed  to  meet  Ida  and  her  father  on  the  after- 
noon boat;  and  his  impatience,  and  the  early  hour  he  started 
to  keep  the  appointment,  was  another  straw  which  he  was 
compelled  to  see  in  spite  of  himself;  nor  could  he  fail  to 
note  which  way  the  current  was  bearing  him. 

11  Well,"  he  muttered,  with  the  fatuity  common  in  all 
strong  temptations:  "I'll  spend  a  few  more  hours  with  this 
rare  Undine,  this  genuine  woman,  who — infinitely  more 
beautiful  than  Venus — is  rising  out  of  the  dark  waters  of 
sorrow,  shame,  and  despair,  and  then  if  I  find  that  it  will 
be  wiser  and  safer  to  be  only  a  somewhat  unobtrusive  and 
distant  friend,  showing  my  goodwill  more  by  deeds  than  by 


454  A    FACE   1LLUMIJSED 

seeking  her  society,  I  can  gradually  take  this  course  with- 
out wounding  her  feelings  or  exciting  suspicion  of  the 
cause.  She  was  right,  although  she  little  imagines  the  rea- 
son; we  could  never  have  those  readings  together,  and  I 
fear  I  must  manage  with  far  fewer  visits  to  my  studio  than 
I  had  hoped  for.  What  an  accursed  chaotic  old  world  it  is 
anyway!  How  grateful  she  is  because  I  merely  treat  her 
father  politely!  It  would  be  impossible  to  do  anything 
else,  now  that  he  is  himself  again,  and  yet,  by  this  simple, 
easy  method,  I  have  won  a  friendlier  regard  than  I  could 
by  any  other  means.  Like  an  idiot,  J  once  thought  she 
would  have  to  withdraw  from  her  father  to  develop  her  new 
and  beautiful  life.  If  even  in  faintest  suggestion  I  had  re- 
vealed that  thought  to  her,  I  don't  believe  she  would  have 
spoken  to  me  again ;  and  I  foresee  that  I  shall  have  to  be 
exceedingly  polite  to  Mrs.  Mayhew  also,  for  my  Undine  is 
developing  a  conscience  that  might  become  a  man's  impla- 
cable enemy.  But  what  am  I  thinking  about!  If  I  do  not 
intend  to  see  much  of  the  daughter,  I  shall  not  waste  any 
time  on  the  mother.  I  wonder  if  Miss  Mayhew  meant  any- 
thing by  that  odd  little  ballad  last  evening.  Could  she 
have  intended  to  remind  me  of  blue-eyed  Jennie  Burton  ? 
No,  for  she  was  singing  it  by  herself,  when  she  did  not 
know  I  was  listening.  The  idiotic  brook!  If  I  had  given 
my  whole  heart  to  the  effort  I  might  have  won  Jennie 
Burton  by  this  time.  Ida  Mayhew  was  right:  no  woman 
that  I  wish  to  win  will  show  a  lover  any  favor  till  he  cannot 
help  stopping  and  staying,  too." 

A  moment  later  he  stopped  short  in  the  street.  lt  Great 
God!"  muttered  he,  "do  I  wish  to  win  Jennie  Burton? 
Whither  am  I  drifting?  Would  to  heaven  I  had  not  made 
this  appointment  this  afternoon.  Well,  I'm  in  for  it  now," 
and  he  strode  along  as  if  he  were  going  into  battle,  resolv- 
ing to  be  guarded  to  the  last  degree,  lest  Ida  should  suspect 
his  weakness. 

He  saw  her  come  on  the  boat  with  her  father  at  the  last 
moment,   her  cheeks  flushed  with  the  heat  and  her  eyes 


FROM    DEEP   EXPERIENCE  455 

aglow  with  the  hurry  and  excitement  of  the  occasion.  He 
saw  one  and  another  of  her  young  gentleman  acquaintances 
step  eagerly  forward  to  speak  to  her  and  admiring  eyes 
turning  toward  her  on  every  side.  "She  won't  lack  for 
friends  and  companions  now,  and  I  soon  will  be  little 
missed,"  he  thought  bitterly.  One  gentleman,  in  his  im- 
patience for  her  society,  sought  to  obtain  her  small  travel- 
ling-bag, and  was  assuring  her  that  he  could  obtain  seats 
for  herself  and  father  on  the  crowded  boat,  when,  by  her 
timid  glance  around,  she  showed  that  she  was  expecting 
some  one,  and  Van  Berg  hastened  forward  and  said  quietly: 
4tI  have  seats  reserved  in  the  pilot-house." 

She  gave  him  a  glad  smile  of  welcome;  but  almost  in- 
stantly her  face  became  grave  and  questioning  in  its  expres- 
sion; and  she  looked  at  him  keenly  as  he  cordially  shook 
hands  with  her  father.  As  they  went  away  with  him,  as  if 
by  a  prearrangement  several  guests  of  the  Lake  House 
looked  at  each  other  and  nodded  their  heads  significantly. 

While  on  the  way  to  the  pilot-house,  and  during  their 
conversation  after  arriving  there,  Ida  often  turned  a  quick, 
questioning  glance  toward  Van  Berg,  and  her  expression 
reminded  him  of  some  children's  faces  he  had  seen  as  they 
tried  to  read  the  thoughts  or  intentions  of  those  who  had 
their  interests  in  keeping.  He  tried  his  best  to  be  cordial 
and  natural  in  manner — to  be,  in  brief,  the  sincere  friend 
that  he  had  professed  himself — and  Mr.  Mayhew  did  not 
notice  anything  amiss;  but  even  at  some  inflection  of  his 
voice,  or  at  a  pause  in  the  conversation,  Ida  would  turn 
toward  him  this  sudden,  questioning  childlike  look,  which 
touched  him  deeply  while  it  puzzled  him.  But  she  grad- 
ually began  to  grow  distrait  and  quiet,  and  to  look  less  and 
less  often.  Van  Berg  had  a  deep  affection  for  the  noble  river 
on  which  they  were  sailing,  and  had  familiarized  himself 
with  its  history  and  legends.  By  means  of  these  he  sought 
to  entertain  Ida  and  her  father,  and  with  the  latter  he  suc- 
ceeded abundantly;  but  he  often  doubted  whether  Ida 
heard  him,  for  her  eyes  and  thoughts  seemed  to  be  wander- 


456  A   FACE   ILLUMINED 

ing  beyond  the  blue  Highlands  which  they  now  were  enter- 
ing. At  last  Mr.  Mayhew  left  them  for  awhile,  and  Van 
Berg  turned  and  said  gently: 

"Miss  Ida,  you  are  not  in  good  spirits  this  afternoon." 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  but  averted  her  face 
still  further  from  him.  At  last  she  said,  in  a  low  tone: 
"Mr.  Van  Berg,  did  you  ever  have  a  presentiment  of 
evil  ?" 

"I  don't  believe  in  such  things,"  he  replied  promptly. 

"Of  course  not;  you  are  a  man.  But  1  have  such  a  pre- 
sentiment this  afternoon,  and  it  will  come  true." 

"What  do  you  fear,  Miss  Ida  ?" 

"What  does  a  woman  always  fear?  Earthquakes,  politi- 
cal changes,  disturbances  in  the  world  at  large,  of  course." 

"I  have  heard  that  a  woman's  kingdom  was  her  heart," 
Van  Berg  was  indiscreet  enough  to  say. 

"It  is  a  pity,"  Ida  replied  with  one  of  her  reckless 
laughs,  "for  it  so  often  happens  that  she  cannot  keep  it, 
and  those  who  wrest  if  from  her  do  not  care  to  keep  it,  and 
so  it  comes  to  be  what  the  geographies  used  to  call  one  of 
the  'waste  places  of  the  earth.'  As  the  world  goes,  I  think 
1  had  better  retain  my  kingdom,  small  as  it  is." 

He  turned  very  pale,  and  swift  as  light  he  thought: 
"Has  she,  by  the  aid  of  her  woman's  intuition,  read  my 
thoughts  ?  Has  she  seen  the  beginnings  of  a  regard  for  her 
far  warmer  than  my  professed  friendship,  and,  remembering 
my  suit  to  Jennie  Burton,  is  she  learning  to  despise  me  as 
fickle,  or,  worse,  as  a  hypocritical  specimen  of  that  meanest 
type  of  human  vermin — a  male  flirt?"  and  his  face  grew 
so  white  that  Ida  in  her  turn  was  not  only  perplexed,  but 
alarmed. 

But  after  a  moment  he  said  quietly:  "It  is  not  the  size 
of  a  kingdom  that  makes  its  value,  but  what  it  contains. 
I  hope  you  will  keep  the  treasures  of  yours  till  you  find 
some  one  worthy  to  receive  them,  and  I  can  scarcely  im- 
agine that  such  an  idiot  exists  that  he  would  not  retain 
them  if  he  could.     That  is  Fort  Montgomery  yonder,"  and 


FROM    DEEP  EXPERIENCE  457 

he  resolutely  continued  the  story  of  its  defence  and  cap- 
ture, until  her  father  returned  saying  it  was  time  to  come 
down  and  prepare  to  land. 

Ida  had  scarcely  heard  a  word,  fler  heart  almost  stood 
still  with  dread  and  foreboding,  and  like  a  dreary  refrain 
the  words  kept  repeating  themselves:  "Oh,  I'm  punished, 
I'm  punished.  I  thought  to  win  him  from  Jennie  Burton, 
and  my  reckless  words  will  now  make  him  true  to  her  at 
every  cost  to  himself.  He  knows  that  I  must  have  seen 
how  he  won  the  kingdom  of  her  heart,  and  he'll  keep  it 
now  in  spite  of  my  love  and  something  I  thought  love  that 
1  saw  in  his  face.  Oh,  my  punishment  is  greater  than  I  can 
bear;  but  it  is  deserved,  well  deserved.  If  he  had  won  my 
love  first,  what  would  I  think  of  the  woman  who  tried  to 
win  him  from  me  ?  She  would  have  suffered  what  1  now 
must  suffer.     My  bright  but  guilty  dream  is  over  forever." 

Van  Berg  assisted  her  down  to  the  gangway  and  out  on 
the  wharf  with  a  grave  and  scrupulous  politeness,  but  she 
felt  even  more  than  she  saw  that  her  words  had  stung  his 
\ery  soul.  It  was  their  apparent  truth  which  he  could 
never  explain  away  that  gave  them  their  power  to  wound 
so  deeply,  and  every  moment  brought  to  him  a  clearer  real- 
ization of  the  fact  that  he  had  tried  to  win,  and  was  pledged 
to  win,  a  woman  whom  to  wrong  even  unwittingly  would  be 
an  act  for  which  he  could  never  forgive  himself.  And  yet 
his  heart  sank  at  the  thought  of  meeting  her;  indeed,  so 
guilty  and  embarrassed  did  he  become  in  his  feelings  that 
he  decided  he  would  not  meet  her  before  others,  and  sprang 
out  of  the  stage,  saying  to  the  driver  that  he  preferred  walk- 
ing the  remainder  of  the  way.  Mr.  Mayhew  looked  at  him 
in  some  surprise,  for  his  manner  had  changed  so  now  as  to 
attract  his  attention  and  excite  disagreeable  surmises. 

To  Ida's  great  relief  Stanton  had  come  down  to  meet  her 
with  his  light  wagon.  He  had  seen  Van  Berg  at  her  side 
again  with  surprise,  and,  after  his  fast  horses  had  whirled 
them  well  away  by  themselves,  he  asked  a  little  abruptly : 

"Ida,  have  you  seen  Van  this  week?" 

20— Roe— XII 


458  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said  briefly:  "Yes. 
We  met  at  the  concert- garden  again,  and  he  dined  with  us 
last  evening." 

Stanton  turned  and  looked  at  her  earnestly,  and  her  color 
rose  swiftly  under  his  questioning  eyes. 

"My  poor  little  Ida,  we  are  in  the  same  boat,  I  fear,"  he 
said  compassionately. 

She  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder.  "Oh,  Ik,  spare  me," 
she  faltered. 

"It's  just  as  I  feared,"  Stanton  resumed,  with  a  deep 
sigh.  "Maledictions  on  such  a  world  as  ours!  The  devil 
rules  it,  sure  enough." 

"Oh,  hush,  hush,"  Ida  sobbed. 

"1  see  it  all,  now;  indeed,  I've  thought  it  all  out  this 
past  week.     You  used  Sibley  only  as  a  blind,  poor  child." 

"Yes,  Ik,  I  loathed  and  detested  him  almost  from  the 
first." 

"And  in  the  meantime  the  sagacious  Van  Berg  and  my- 
self were  trampling  on  you  like  a  couple  of  long-eared  beasts. 
How  did  you  ever  forgive  us!" 

"Oh,  Ik,  Ik,  my  h2art  is  breaking.  I've  had  such  dreams 
the  last  two  weeks.  I've  dared  to  think  I  had  learned  a  little 
of  God's  love,  and  oh— was  I  blinded  by  my  wishes,  by  my 
hopes,  by  the  passionate  longing  of  my  heart  ?— I  thought 
I  saw  love  in  his  eyes,  and  heard  it  in  his  tones,  last  even- 
ing. Everything  now  is  slipping  from  me — happiness,  hope, 
and  even  my  faith.  But  I  deserve  it  all,"  she  added  in 
her  heart.  "I  could  almost  curse  the  woman  who  tried  to 
win  him  from  me." 

Stanton  turned  his  horses  off  into  a  shady  and  unfre- 
quented side  road  where  they  would  not  be  apt  to  meet  any 
one.  "Good  heavens!"  he  thought;  "this  is  just  the  con- 
dition of  mind  that  Van  warned  me  to  guard  against,  and, 
confound  him,  he  is  the  cause  of  the  evils  he  feared,  and  in 
their  worst  form.  I  be  hanged  if  I  can  understand  him. 
All  through  July  he  was  Jennie  Burton's  open  suitor— at 
least  he  made  no  secret  of  it  to  me,  although  his  cool  head 


FROM    DEEP   EXPERIENCE  459 

enabled  him  to  throw  the  people  of  the  house  off  the  scent — 
and  now  he  follows  another  lady  to  New  York,  and  leaves 
his  first  love  on  very  flimsy  pretexts.  By  Jove!  I  don't 
like  it,  even  though  it  were  possible  for  me  to  profit  by  his 
folly." 

"My  poor  little  Ida,"  he  said  gently,  putting  his  arm 
around  her,  "you  and  I  must  stand  by  each  other,  for  we 
are  like  to  have  rough  weather  ahead  for  awhile.  It's  no 
kindness  to  you  now  to  hide  the  truth.  I  do  not  know  that 
Van  Berg  has  formally  proposed  to  Miss  Burton,  but,  as 
an  honorable  man,  he  is  committed  to  her,  and  I  believe 
he  has  won  her  affections,  although  I  confess  I  don't  under- 
stand her  very  well.  She  has  evidently  had  very  deep  sor- 
rows in  the  past,  and  I  am  satisfied  that  she  has  felt  his 
absence  keenly  this  week." 

"I  deserve  it  all,"  Ida  murmured  again,  but  so  low  he 
could  not  hear  her,  and  she  gave  way  to  another  outburst 
of  grief. 

"It  will  pain  even  your  heart,  Ida,  to  see  how  slight  and 
pale  Miss  Burton  is  becoming.  She  also  appears  strangely 
restless,  and  takes  long  walks  that  are  far  beyond  her 
strength." 

"It's  all  plain,"  groaned  Ida.  "How  can  she  act  other- 
wise! Well,  she  will  be  comforted  now,  no  matter  what 
becomes  of  me." 

"You  will  be  a  brave  woman,  Ida,  and  pull  through  all 
right." 

"No,  Ik,  I'm  not  brave.  I  could  easily  die  for  those  I 
love;  but  I  can't  just  suffer  and  be  patient,  at  least  I  don't 
see  how  I  can;  but  I  suppose  I  must." 

His  arm  tightened  about  her  waist,  and  she  felt  it  trem- 
bling. "Ida,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  solemn  tone,  "promise  me 
before  God  that  whatever  happens  you  will  never — " 

"Hush!"  she  gasped,  shudderingly,  "I  will  die  in  God's 
own  way.     I  will  endure  as  best  I  can." 

He  stooped  down  and  kissed  her  tenderly  as  he  said: 
"Ida,    dear,    from    this    hour   I'm    no    longer   your   cousin 


460  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

merely,  but  a  brother,  and  your  companion  in  misfortune. 
I'm  going  to  stand  by  you  and  see  you  through  this  trouble. 
Just  count  on  me  to  shield  you  in  every  possible  way.  I 
don't  care  what  the  world  thinks  of  me,  but  never  a  tongue 
shall  wag  against  you  again,  or  there  will  be  a  heavy  score 
to  settle  with  me.  Van  and  I  have  been  good  friends,  but 
he's  on  ticklish  ground  now.  He'll  find  he  can't  play  fast 
and  loose  with  two  such  women  as  you  and  Jennie  Burton. 
Curse  it  all !  it  isn't  like  him  to  do  it  either.  But  the  world 
is  topsy-turvey,  anyhow." 

44  Ik,  I  plead  with  you,  say  nothing,  do  nothing.  Be 
blind  and  deaf  to  everything  of  which  we  have  spoken. 
Only  help  me  hide  my  secret  and  get  away  from  this  place 
to  some  other  where  1  am  not  known." 

14  Has  your  father  any  idea  of  all  this  ?" 

Ida  explained  in  part  her  father's  knowledge. 

4 'We  can  easily  manage  it  then,"  he  said.  "I  had  de- 
cided to  leave  next  week.  Miss  Burton  leaves  for  her  col- 
lege duties  very  soon  also.  The  idea  of  that  fragile  flower 
being  trampled  on  nine  months  of  the  year  by  a  crowd  of 
thoughtless,  heedless  girls !  And  so  our  disastrous  summer 
comes  to  an  end.  And  yet  I'm  wrong  in  applying  that  term 
to  my  own  experience.  I  wish  you  felt  as  I  do,  Ida.  I 
haven't  a  particle  of  hope,  and  yet  I  would  not  give  up  my 
love  for  Jennie  Burton  for  all  the  world;  and  I  don't  believe 
I  ever  shall  give  it  up.  I  think  she  is  beginning  to  under- 
stand me  a  little  better  now,  although  she  does  not  give  me 
much  thought.  One  day,  while  you  have  been  gone,  I  met 
her  returning  from  one  of  her  walks,  and  she  looked  so  faint 
and  sad  that  I  could  not  endure  it,  and  I  went  straight  to 
her  and  took  her  hand  as  I  said:  'Miss  Burton,  is  there  any- 
thing Ik  Stanton  can  do  to  make  you  happier?  It's  none 
of  my  business,  I  suppose,  but  it's  breaking  my  heart  to  see 
you  becoming  so  sad  and  pale.  I  mav  seem  to  you  very 
foolish  and  Quixotic,  but  there  is  no  earthly  thing  I  would 
not  do  or  suffer  for  you.'  She  did  not  withdraw  her  hand 
as  she  replied,  very  gently:  lMr.  Stanton,  please  do  me  the 


FROM   DEEP   EXPERIENCE  46l 

kindness  to  be  happy  yourself,  and  forget  me.'  I  could 
only  say,  in  honesty:  lYou  have  asked  just  the  two  things 
which  are  utterly  impossible.'  Tears  came  into  her  eyes 
as  she  replied,  with  emphasis:  'Then,  my  friend,  you  can 
understand  me.  There  is  one  whom  I  can  never  forget.' 
She  was  kind  enough  to  say  some  words  about  my  having 
been  generous  and  considerate  of  her  feelings,  etc.,  but  no 
matter  about  them.  We  parted,  and  it's  all  over  as  far 
as  she  is  concerned.  When  I  left  town  last  June  I  thought 
I'd  be  a  bachelor  always,  because  I  loved  my  jolly  ease. 
I've  a  better  reason  now,  Ida.  Of  course  Van  must  be  the 
one  referred  to  by  Miss  Burton.  You  have  seen  how  she 
looks  at  him  at  times  when  thinking  herself  unobserved!" 

"Yes,"  sighed  Ida,  "it's  all  right.  God  is  just,  and 
there  is  no  use  of  trying  to  thwart  His  will" 

41  Well,  Ida,  1  don't  know.  It's  all  a  snarl  to  me.  Some- 
times I  think  the  world  goes  on  the  toss-up-a-penny  plan, 
and  again  it  seems  almost  as  if  Old  Nick  himself  was  behind 
the  scenes. 

"Dear  Brother  Ik,  don't  talk  to  me  that  way.  If  I  do 
lose  all  my  faith  now,  I  don't  know  what  will  happen." 

"Forgive  me,  Ida;  I  will  try  to  do  better  by  you,  though 
I  fear  I  shall  prove  one  of  Job's  comforters.  We'll  stop  in 
the  village,  get  some  supper  there,  and  thus  you  won't  have 
to  face  anybody  to-night,  and  by  to-morrow  you  will  be  your 
own  brave  self." 

"Oh,"  moaned  Ida,  "I  am  almost  as  sorry  for  father's 
sake  as  for  my  own.  How  can  I  keep  him  up  when  I  am 
sinking  myself?" 

Mr.  Mayhew  stood  on  the  piazza,  waiting  for  Ida  and 
wondering  why  she  did  not  come,  as  Van  Berg  mounted  the 
steps.  The  majority  of  the  people  had  gone  in  to  supper, 
but  Miss  Burton,  who  was  a  little  late,  recognized  him  from 
the  hallway,  and  she  came  swiftly  out  to  greet  him.  Her 
very  cordiality  was  another  stab,  and  he  exerted  the  whole 
power  of  his  manhood  to  meet  her  in  like  spirit. 

"I  did  not  know  1  should  miss  you  so  much,"  she  said, 


462  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

her  eyes  growing  a  little  moist  from  her  strong  feeling.  "I 
suppose  we  never  value  our  friends  as  we  ought  till  taught 
their  worth  to  us  by  absence.  But  if  you  have  been  suc- 
cessful in  your  work  I  shall  be  well  content." 

"Yes,  Miss  Jennie,"  he  replied,  "I  think  I  have  been 
successful.  The  picture  is  far  from  being  complete,  but 
I've  been  able  to  obtain  a  much  better  likeness  of  Mr. 
Eltinge  than  I  even  hoped  to  catch." 

"Mr.  Yan  Berg,  you  have  been  working  too  hard.  You 
look  exceedingly  weary.  What  possessed  you  to  walk  all 
these  miles  ?  Leave  us  women  to  do  unreasonable  things, 
and  least  of  all  are  they  becoming  in  you;  come  at  once 
and  get  a  good   supper." 

He  could  not  disguise  the  pain  and  humiliation  that  her 
words  caused  him,  and  said  hurriedly,  "I  will  join  you  in  a 
few  moments,"  and  then  hastened  to  his  room. 

Mr.  Mayhew,  with  the  delicacy  of  a  gentleman,  had  with- 
drawn out  of  earshot  as  they  conversed,  but  the  warmth  of 
Miss  Burton's  greeting  had  suggested  a  thought  that  was 
exceedingly  disquieting.  As  if  from  a  sudden  impulse  he 
went  directly  to  the  supper- table,  and  his  quiet  courtesy 
masked  the  closest  observation. 

Van  Berg  stood  in  his  room  a  moment  and  fairly  trem- 
bled with  shame  and  rage  at  himself.  Then,  with  a  bitter 
imprecation,  he  made  the  brief  toilet  the  dust  of  his  walk 
required,  and  his  face  was  so  stern  and  white  one  might 
think  he  was  about  to  face  an  executioner  instead  of  Jennie 
Burton's  blue  eyes  beaming  with  friendship  at  least.  The 
thought  of  discovering  anything  warmer  in  their  expression 
sent  a  mortal  chill  to  her  former  wooer's  heart.  He  expected 
to  meet  Ida  at  the  table,  and  the  ordeal  of  meeting  the  wo- 
man to  whom  he  was  pledged  in  the  presence  of  the  woman 
he  loved  was  like  the  ancient  Trial  by  Fire. 

"Curse  it  all,"  he  muttered,  %kthey  both  can  read  one's 
thoughts  as  if  they  were  printed  on  sign-boards.  I  was 
scarcely  conscious  of  what  my  ardent  friendship  for  Miss 
Mayhew  meant  before  she  looked  me  in  the  face  and  saw 


FROM    DEEP   EXPERIENCE  463 

the  whole  truth,  and  she  almost  the  same  as  charged  me  with 
winning  Jennie  Burton's  heart  and  then  throwing  it  away, 
while  in  the  same  breath  she  hinted  that  I  need  not  attempt 
any  such  folly  and  meanness  in  her  case.  If  ever  a  man's 
pride  and  self-respect  received  a  mortal  wound  mine  has  to- 
day. And  now  1  feel  with  instinctive  certainty,  that  Miss 
Burton  will  see  the  truth  just  as  clearly,  and  then  my  bur- 
den for  life  will  be  the  contempt  of  the  two  women  whom 
I  honor  as  I  do  my  mother's  name.  Well,  there  is  no  help 
for  it  now,  my  ship  is  on  the  rocks  already." 

He  was  greatly  relieved  to  find  that  Ida  was  Dot  at  the 
table,  but,  in  spite  of  his  best  efforts,  Miss  Burton  soon  saw 
that  something  was  amiss,  and  that  it  was  difficult  for  him 
to  sustain  his  part  of  the  conversation.  With  her  graceful 
tact,  however,  she  was  blind  to  all  she  imagined  he  would 
not  have  her  notice,  and  tried  to  enliven  both  Mr.  Mayhew 
and  himself  with  her  cheery  talk — a  vain  effort  in  each 
instance  now. 

"How  slight  and  spirit-like  she  is  becoming!"  groaned 
Van  Berg,  inwardly.  "Great  God!  if  I  have  wronged  her, 
how  awful  will  be  my  punishment!" 

"She  loves  him,"  was  Mr.  Mayhew's  conclusion,  "and 
from  his  manner  I  fear  he  has  given  her  reason.  At  any 
rate,  for  some  cause,  he  is  in  great  perplexity  and  trouble." 

After  supper  Van  Berg  stood  near  the  main  stairway, 
still  conversing  with  Miss  Burton,  when  a  light,  quick  step 
caused  him  to  look  up  and  he  saw  Ida,  who  had  entered  by 
a  side  door.  He  knew  she  must  have  seen  him  and  Miss 
Burton  also,  but  she  passed  him  with  veiled  and  downcast 
face,  and  went  swiftly  up  the  stairway  to  her  room.  It 
seemed  to  him  a  cut  direct.  "She  and  Stanton  have  been 
comparing  notes,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  he  crimsoned  at 
the  thought  of  what  he  must  now  appear  to  her.  Miss  Bur- 
ton had  been  standing  with  her  back  toward  the  stairway 
and  had  not  seen  Ida  at  first,  but  Van  Berg's  hot  flush 
caused  her  to  glance  around  and  see  the  cause,  and  then 
she  understood  his  manner   better.     But  it  was  her  creed 


464  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

that  people  manage  such  things  best  without  interference, 
even  from  the  kindliest  motives,  and  she  therefore  made  no 
allusion  to  Miss  Mayhew  that  evening. 

11  Miss  Jennie,"  said  Van  Berg,  yielding  to  what  he  now 
felt  had  become  a  necessity,  "I  may  seem  more  of  a  heathen 
to  you  to-morrow  than  ever.  There  is  a  distant  mountain 
and  lake  that  I  wish  to  visit  before  I  return  to  town,  and  I 
shall  start  early  to-morrow.  So  if  I  do  not  come  back  very 
early  you  need  not  think  that  the  earth  has  swallowed  me 
up  or  that  I  have  fallen  a'  prey  to  wild  beasts.  Good- 
night," and  he  pressed  her  hand  warmly. 

She  looked  at  him  wistfully  and  seemed  about  to  speak, 
for  she  was  vaguely  conscious  of  his  deep  trouble.  She 
checked  the  impulse,  however,  and  parted  from  him  with  a 
kindly  smile  that  suggested  sympathy  rather  than  reproach. 

Stanton  called  Mr.  Mayhew  aside  and  the  two  gentlemen 
spoke  very  frankly  together. 

"Ida  seems  even  more  concerned  about  you  than  her- 
self," said  Stanton  in  conclusion,  "and  it  would  kill  her,  as 
she  now  feels,  if  you  should  give  way  to  your  old  weakness 
again.  She  fears  that  she  won't  be  able  to  sustain  and  cheer 
you  as  she  intended,  but  I  told  her  that  we  would  both  stand 
by  her  and  see  her  through  her  trouble." 

"I  understand  you,  Ik,"  said  Mr.  Mayhew,  quietly. 
"From  my  heart  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  Ida. 
But  you  don't  understand  me.  I  had  a  deeper  thirst  than 
that  for  brandy,  and  when  my  child  gave  me  her  love,  my 
real  thirst  was  quenched,  and  the  other  is  gone." 

"That's  noble;  we'll  pull  through  yet!"  Stanton  re- 
sumed, heartily.  "Ida  and  I  got  our  supper  at  a  village 
inn— at  least,  we  went  through  the  motions — for  I  was 
bound  no  one  should  have  a  chance  to  stare  at  her  to- 
night." 

"No  matter,"  said  her  father,  decisively.  "I  have  had 
prepared  as  nice  a  supper  as  Mr.  Burleigh  could  furnish, 
and  I  shall  take  it  to  her  room.  She  shall  see  that  she  is 
not  forgotten." 


FROM    DEEP    EXPERIENVE  435 

Ida  tried  to  eat  a  little  to  please  him,  but  she  soon  came 
and  sat  beside  him  on  her  sofa,  saying,  as  she  buried  her 
face  against  his  shoulder,  "Father,  I  shall  have  to  lean  very 
hard  on  you  now." 

"I  won't  fail  you,  Ida,"  was  the  gentle  and  simple  reply, 
but  they  understood  each  other  without  further  words. 
With  unspoken  sympathy  and  tenderness  he  tried  to  fill 
the  place  her  mother  could  not,  for  if  Mrs.  Mayhew  had 
gained  any  knowledge  of  Ida's  feelings,  she  would  have 
had  a  great  deal  to  say  on  the  subject  with  the  best  and 
kindest  intentions.  With  heavy  touch  she  would  try  to 
examine  and  heal  the  wound  twenty  times  a  day. 

Mr.  Mayhew  was  right  when  he  said  the  Van  Bergs  were 
a  proud  race,  and  this  trait  had  found  its  culmination,  per- 
haps, in  the  hero  of  this  tale.  He  was  justly  proud  of  his 
old  and  unstained  name;  he  was  proud  of  those  who  bore 
it  with  him,  and  he  honored  his  father  and  mother,  not  in 
obedience  to  a  command,  but  because  every  one  honored 
them;  and  if  his  sister  was  a  little  cold  and  stately,  she  em- 
bodied his  ideas  of  refinement  and  cultivation;  he  was  proud 
of  his  social  position,  of  his  talent — for  he  knew  he  had  that 
much,  at  least — and  of  the  recognition  he  had  already  won 
in  the  republic  of  art.  But  chief  of  all  had  he  been  proud 
of  his  unstained  manhood,  of  the  honor  which  he  believed 
had  been  kept  unsullied  until  this  miserable  day.  But  now, 
as  he  strode  away  in  the  moonlight,  he  found  himself  con- 
fronting certain  facts  which  he  felt  he  could  never  explain 
to  any  one's  satisfaction,  not  even  his  own.  He  had  openly 
professed  to  love  a  poor  and  orphaned  girl,  and  had  pledged 
himself  to  win  her  if  he  could — to  be  her  friend  till  he  could 
become  far  more.  Even  granting  that  she  still  looked  on 
him  merely  as  a  friend,  that  did  not  release  him.  It  was 
while  possessing  the  distinct  knowledge  that  she  cherished 
no  warmer  feekng  that  he  had  made  the  pledge,  and  though 
she  might  not  be  able  or  willing  to-day  or  to-morrow,  or  for 
years  to  come,  to  give  up  a  past  love  for  his  sake,  his  prom- 
ise required  that  he  should  patiently  woo  and  wait  till  she 


*m  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

could  bury  the  past  with  her  old  lover,  and  receive,  at  his 
hands,  the  future  that  he  was  in  honor  bound  to  keep  within 
her  reach.  Of  course,  if,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  she  assured 
him  she  could  not  and  would  not  accept  of  his  hand  in  mar- 
riage, he  would  be  free,  but  he  had  scarcely  waited  weeks 
before  giving  his  love  to  another.  For  aught  he  knew,  the 
hope  of  happier  days,  which  he  had  urged  upon  her,  might 
be  already  stealing  into  her  heart. 

It  gave  him  but  little  comfort  now  to  recognize  the  fact 
that  he  had  never  loved  Jennie  Burton— that  he  had  never 
known  what  the  word  meant  until  swept  away  by  the  irre- 
sistible tide  of  a  passion,  the  power  of  which  already  ap- 
palled him.  To  say  that  he  did  not  feel  like  keeping  his 
promise  now,  or  that  his  feelings  had  changed,  he  knew 
would  be  regarded  as  an  excuse  beneath  contempt,  and  a 
week  since  he  himself  would  have  pronounced  the  most 
merciless  judgment  against  a  man  in  his  present  position. 

Before  the  vigil  of  that  night  was  over,  he  decided  that 
he  could  not  meet  either  Ida  Mayhew  or  Jennie  Burton 
again.  He  believed  that  Ida  understood  him  only  too  well 
now,  and  that  she  thoroughly  despised  him.  Indeed,  from 
her  manner  of  passing  him,  he  doubted  whether  she  will- 
ingly would  speak  to  him  again,  for  her  veil  had  prevented 
him  from  seeing  the  pallor  and  traces  of  grief  which  she  was 
so  anxious  to  hide.  In  his  morbidly  sensitive  state,  it- 
seemed  a  deliberate  but  just  withdrawal  of  even  her  ac- 
quaintance. He  felt  that  the  brief  dream  of  Ida  Mayhew 
was  over  forever,  and  that  she  would  indeed  keep  the  price- 
less kingdom  of  her  heart  from  him  above  all  others.  He 
believed  that  now,  after  her  conversation  with  Stanton,  she 
clearly  saw  that  the  absurdly  ardent  friendship  he  had  urged 
upon  her  was  only  the  incipient  stage  of  a  new  passion  in  a 
fickle  wretch  who  had  dared  to  trifle  with  a  girl  like  Jennie 
Burton— a  maiden  that,  of  all  others  in  the  world,  a  man  of 
honor  would  shield. 

As  for  Miss  Burton  herself,  now  that  he  realized  his  situ- 
ation, he  felt  that  he  could  never  look  her  in  the  face  again. 


FROM    DEEP   EXPERIENCE  467 

To  try  to  resume  his  old  relations  seemed  to  be  impossible. 
He  never  had  and  never  could  say  to  her  a  word  that  he 
knew  was  insincere.  Besides,  he  was  sure  that  such  an 
effort  would  be  futile,  for  she  would  detect  his  hollowness 
at  once,  and  he  feared  a  glance  of  scorn  from  her  blue  eyes 
more  than  the  lightning  of  heaven.  He  resolved  to  leave 
the  Lake  House  on  Monday,  and  from  New  York  write  to 
Miss  Burton  the  unvarnished  truth,  assuring  her  that  he 
knew  himself  to  be  unworthy  even  to  speak  to  her  again. 
Then,  as  soon  as  he  could  complete  his  preparations,  he 
would  go  abroad  and  give  himself  wholly  to  his  art. 

Having  come  to  these  conclusions,  he  stole  by  a  side  en- 
trance like  a  guilty  shadow  to  his  room  and  tried  to  obtain 
such  rest  as  is  possible  to  those  who  are  in  the  hell  of  men- 
tal torment.  After  an  early  breakfast  the  following  morn- 
ing, he  started  for  the  mountains,  and  no  wild  beast  that 
ever  roamed  them  would  have  torn  him  more  pitilessly  than 
did  his  own  outraged  sense  of  honor  and  manhood.  He  re- 
turned late  in  the  evening,  weary  and  faint,  and  with  the 
furtiveness  of  an  outlaw,  again  reached  his  room  without 
meeting  those  whom  he  so  wished  to  avoid.  After  the 
heavy,  unrefreshing  sleep  of  utter  exhaustion  he  once  more 
left  the  house  early,  with  his  sketch-book  in  hand  to  dis- 
guise his  purpose,  for  it  was  his  intention  to  visit  the  old 
garden  before  he  finally  left  the  scenes  to  which  he  had  been 
led  by  following  a  mere  freak  of  fancy.  He  learned  from 
one  of  Mr.  Eltinge's  workmen  that  the  old  gentleman  would 
be  absent  from  home  the  entire  day,  and  thus  feeling  secure 
from  interruption,  he  entered  the  quiet,  shady  place  in  which 
had  begun  the  symphony  which  was  now  ending  in  such 
harsh  discord.  Seeing  that  he  was  alone  he  threw  himself 
into  the  rustic  seat,  and  burying  his  face  in  his  hands, 
soon  became  unconscious  of  the  lapse  of  time  in  his  painful 
revery. 


468  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER  LII 

AN    ILLUMINED     FACE 

IDA'S  expression  and  manner  when  she  came  down  to 
breakfast  on  Sabbath  morning,  reminded  Miss  Burton 
of  the  time  when  the  poor  giri  believed  that  the  man 
she  loved,  both  despised  and  misjudged  her.  And  yet 
there  was  a  vital  difference.  Then  she  was  icy  and  defiant; 
now,  with  all  and  more  than  the  old  sadness,  there  was  an 
aspect  of  humility  and  gentleness  which  had  never  been  seen 
in  former  times,  but  the  woman  who  would  have  been  so 
glad  to  cheer  her  and  remove  all  misunderstandings  found 
that  she  was  absolutely  unapproachable  except  by  a  sort  of 
social  violence  of  which  Jennie  Burton  was  not  capable. 
Ida's  effort — which  was  but  partially  successful — to  be  brave 
and  even  cheerful  for  her  father's  sake,  caused  Mr.  May  hew 
more  than  once  to  go  away  by  himself  in  order  to  hide  his 
feelings,  Mrs.  May  hew  became  more  and  more  mystified 
and  uncomfortable.  She  had  enjoyed,  in  her  cold-blooded 
way,  a  tranquil,  gossipy  week  during  her  daughter's  and 
husband's  absence,  but  now  she  felt  as  if  some  kind  of 
a  domestic  convulsion  might  occur  any  moment. 

"I  don't  see  why  people  have  to  make  such  a  fuss  over 
life,"  she  complained.  "If  they  would  only  do  what  was 
stylish,  proper  and  religious  they  wouldn't  have  any 
trouble,"  and  the  strong  and  not  wholly  repressed  feeling 
of  Ida  and  her  father,  of  which  she  was  uncomfortably  con- 
scious, seemed  to  her  absurd  and  uncalled  for.  Like  the 
majority  of  matter-of-fact  people,  she  had  no  patience  or 
charity  for  emotion  or  deep  regret.     "Do  the  proper  thing 


AN   ILLUMINED    FACE  469 

under  the  circumstances  and  let  that  end  the  matter,"  was 
one  of  her  favorite  sayings. 

Stanton  learned  from  Mr.  Burleigh  that  Van  Berg  had 
gone  on  a  mountain  tramp,  and,  when  he  told  Ida,  hope 
whispered  to  her,  "If  he  loved  Jennie  Burton  or  felt  that 
he  could  return  to  her  side,  he  would  not  do  that  after  his 
long  absence." 

But  when  he  did  not  return  to  supper  she  began  to  droop 
and  become  pale  like  a  flower  growing  in  too  dense  a  shade. 
She  was  glad  when  the  interminable  day  came  to  an  end 
and  she  could  shut  herself  away  from  every  one,  for  there 
are  wounds  which  the  heart  would  hide  even  from  the  eyes 
of  love  and  sympathy.  It  had  been  arranged  during  the 
day  that  Mr.  Mayhew  should  find  another  place  at  which  to 
spend  his  vacation,  and  that  as  early  in  the  week  as  possi- 
ble Stanton  should  take  his  wife  and  daughter  thither. 

When  at  last  poor  Ida  slept  she  dreamed  that  she  was 
sailing  on  a  beautiful  yacht  with  silver  canvas  and  crimson 
flags — that  Van  Berg  stood  at  her  side  pointing  to  a  lovely 
island  which  they  were  rapidly  approaching.  Then  a  sad- 
den gust  of  wind  swept  her  overboard  and  she  was  sinking, 
sinking  till  the  waters  became  so  cold  and  dark  that  she 
awoke  with  a  cry  of  terror.  "Oh,"  she  sobbed,  "my  dream 
is  true!  my  dream  is  true!" 

Mr.  Mayhew  returned  to  the  city  in  the  morning,  leaving 
his  daughter  very  reluctantly,  and  Ida,  as  early  as  possible, 
set  out  again  in  the  low  phaeton  to  visit  Mr.  Eltinge,  for 
never  before  had  she  felt  a  greater  need  of  his  counsel  and 
help.  Tears  came  into  her  eyes  when  informed  of  his  ab- 
sence. "Everything  is  against  me,"  she  murmured;  but 
she  decided  to  spend  some  time  in  the  garden  before  she 
returned.  She  had  almost  reached  the  rustic  seat  when  a 
turn  in  the  walk  revealed  that  it  was  occupied.  Her  first 
impulse  was  to  retreat  hastily,  but  observing  that  Van  Berg 
had  not  heard  her  light  step,  she  hesitated.  Then,  his  atti- 
tude of  utter  dejection  so  won  her  sympathy  that  she  could 
not  leave  him  without  speaking,  for  she  remembered  how 


470  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

sorely  in  need  she  once  had  been  of  a  reassuring  word. 
Moreover,  her  heart  said,  "Speak  to  him;"  hope  cried, 
4 'Stay;"  and  her  temptation  to  win  him  if  possible,  right 
or  wrong,  sprang  up  with  tenfold  power  and  whispered: 
"The  man  whom  Jennie  Burton  welcomed  so  cordially 
Saturday  evening  would  not  wear  this  aspect  if  he  had 
the  power  to  return  readily  to  her  side  again."  Still  she 
hesitated  and  found  it  almost  as  hard  to  obtain  words  or 
courage  now  as  when  she  saw  him  pulling  apart  the  worm- 
eaten  rosebud.     At  last  she  faltered: 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  are  you  ill?" 

He  started  to  his  feet  with  a  dazed  look  and  passed  his 
hand  across  his  brow— the  same  gesture  she  so  well  remem- 
bered seeing  him  make  at  the  close  of  the  happy  evening 
he  had  spent  at  her  home.  As  he  realized  that  the  maiden 
before  him  was  flesh  and  blood,  and  not  a  creation  of  his 
morbid  fancy,  the  hot  blood  rushed  swiftly  into  his  face, 
and  his  eyes  fell  before  her. 

41  Yes,  Miss  May  hew,  I  am,"  he  said,  briefly. 

uIam  very  sorry.  Can  I  not  do  anything  for  you?" 
she  asked,  kindly. 

He  looked  up  at  her  in  strong  surprise,  and  was  still 
more  perplexed  by  the  sympathetic  expression  of  her  face, 
but  he  only  said,  ltI  regret  to  say  you  cannot."     . 

41  Mr.  Van  Berg,"  said  Ida,  in  tones  full  of  distress,  "your 
words  and  appearance  pain  me  exceedingly.  You  look  as  if 
you  had  been  ill  a  month.  What  has  happened  ?"  His  as- 
pect might  trouble  one  less  interested  in  him  than  herself, 
for  his  eyes  were  bloodshot,  and  he  had  become  so  haggard 
that  she  could  scarcely  realize  that  he  was  the  man  who  but 
four  days  previous  had  compared  his  hearty  merriment  with 
the  "laughter  of  the  gods."' 

4 'Miss  May  hew,"  he  said,  bitterly  and  slowly,  too,  as  if 
he  were  carefully  choosing  his  words,  "you  had  a  presenti- 
ment last  Saturday  that  some  evil  was  about  to  happen. 
As  far  as  I  am  concerned  the  worst  has  happened.  I  have 
lost  my  self-respect.     I  have  no  right  to  stand  here  in  your 


AN   ILLUMINED    FACE  471 

presence.  I  have  no  right  to  be  in  this  place  even.  I  once 
tossed  away  a  little  flower  that  had  been  sadly  marred, 
through  no  fault  of  its  own,  and  as  I  did  so  I  said  in  my 
pride  and  self-complacency  that  its  imperfection  justified  my 
act.  You  understood  me  well,  and  my  accursed  Pharisee- 
ism  wounded  your  very  heart.  You  afterward  generously 
forgave  my  offence  and  a  worse  one,  but  God  is  just  and  I 
am  now  punished  in  the  severest  possible  way.  I  perceive 
now  that  you  do  not  understand  me,  or  you  could  not  look 
and  speak  so  kindly.  I  thought  you  had  learned  me  better, 
for  you  spoke  words  on  the  boat  that  pierced  my  very  soul, 
revealing  me  to  myself,  and  later  you  passed  me  without  a 
glance.  You  were  right  in  both  instances.  You  are  wrong 
now,  and  I  shall  not  take  advantage  of  your  present  igno- 
rance, which  circumstances  will  soon  remove.  I  repeat  it, 
Miss  May  hew,  I  have  no  right  to  be  here  and  speaking  to 
you,  and  yet" — he  made  a  passionate  and  despairing  ges- 
ture, and  was  about  to  turn  hastily  away,  when  Ida  said, 
earnestly,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  his  face,  as  was  her  in- 
stinctive custom  when  she  sought  to  learn  more  from  the 
expression  of  the  speaker  than  from  his  words: 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,  before  we  part,  answer  me  one  question. 
Have  you  deliberately  and  selfishly  intended  to  do  wrong, 
or  to  wrong  any  one  ?" 

"No,"  he  promptly  replied,  meeting  her  searching  look 
unhesitatingly.  Then,  with  an  impatient  gesture,  he  added: 
"But  no  one  will  ever  believe  it." 

"I  believe  it,"  she  said,  with  a  reassuring  smile. 

"You  ?  You  of  all  others  ?  But  you  are  talking  at  ran- 
dom, Miss  Mayhew.  When  you  learn  the  truth  you  will 
look  and  speak  very  differently.  And  you  shall  learn  it 
now.  You  once  told  me  of  a  wicked  and  desperate  purpose 
to  which  you  were  driven  by  the  wrong  of  others.  Your  sin 
seems  to  me  a  deed  of  light  compared  with  the  act  I  have 
been  led  to  commit,  under  the  guidance  of  my  proud  reason, 
my  superior  judgment,  my  cool,  well-balanced  nature — in- 
fernally cool  it  was,  indeed!     Pardon  me,  but  I  am  beside 


472  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

myself  with  rage  and  self-loathing.  True,  I  have  not  been 
intentionally  false,  but  there  are  circumstances  in  which 
folly,  weakness,  and  stupid  blundering  are  nearly  as  bad, 
and  the  results  quite  as  bad.  What  can  you  say  of  the  man 
who  pays  open  suit  and  makes  distinct  offer  and  pledge  to 
a  lady,  and  then  retreats  from  that  suit  and  breaks  that 
pledge,  and  through  no  fault  whatever  in  the  lady  herself? 
What  can  you  say  of  that  man  when  the  lady  is  a  poor  and 
orphaned  girl,  whom  any  one  with  a  spark  of  honor  would 
shield  with  his  life,  but  that  he  is  a  base,  fickle  wretch, 
who  deserves  the  contempt  of  all  good  men  and  women, 
and  that  he  ought  to  be — as  he  shall  be — a  vagabond  on  the 
face  of  the  earth?" 

Ida  had  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  as  she  learned  how 
thoroughly  Yan  Berg  had  committed  himself  to  Miss  Bur- 
ton, and  the  artist  concluded,  abruptly:  "One  thing  is  cer- 
tain, he  has  no  right  to  be  here.  I  shall  not  wait  and  see 
your  look  of  scorn,  or — worse — of  pity,  for  I  could  not  en- 
dure it,"  and  he  snatched  up  his  sketch-book  and  was  about 
to  hasten  from  the  place,  when  Ida  sprang  forward  and  said 
passionately: 

41  Wait.  This  is  all  wrong.  Answer  me  this — when  you 
discovered  the  awful  crime  which  in  heart  I  had  already 
committed,  how  did  you  treat  me  ?" 

"Your  purpose  was  wicked,  but  not  base." 

"You  have  not  intended  to  be  either  base  or  wicked," 
she  began. 

"Hush!"  he  interrupted  sternly,  "you  shall  not  palliate 
my  weakness  by  smooth  words,  and  to  a  man,  weakness  and 
stupidity,  in  some  circumstances,  are  more  contemptible 
than  crime.  Oh,  how  I  envy  Stanton !  His  course  has  been 
straightforward,  noble,  regal— I  have  acted  like  one  of  the 
canaille. ' ' 

"You  deeply  regret  then,  that  your  feelings  have  so 
changed  toward  Miss  Burton?"  said  Ida,  with  her  eyes 
again  fastened  upon  his  face. 

"I  do  not  think  my  feelings  have  changed  toward  her," 


AN   ILLUMINED   FACE  473 

he  replied;  "she  is  admirable,  perfect,  and  I  honor  her  from 
the  depths  of  my  heart.  Don't  you  see?  I  mistook  my 
deep  respect,  sympathy,  and  admiration  for  something 
more,  and  I  smiled  complacently  in  my  superior  way  and 
flattered  myself  that  it  was  in  this  eminently  well-bred 
and  rational  manner  that  Harold  Van  Berg  would  pay  his 
addresses  to  a  lady,  and  that  Stanton's  absorbing  passion 
was  only  the  result  of  an  ungoverned,  unbalanced  nature — 
accursed  prig  that  I  was!  While  in  this  very  complacent 
and  superior  condition  of  mind  I  committed  myself  to  a 
course  that  I  cannot  carry  out,  and  yet  my. failure  to  do 
so  slays  my  honor  and  self-respect.  Now,  I  have  been  as 
explicit  with  you  as  you  were  with  me,  and  with  what  you 
have  seen  yourself,  you  know  the  whole  miserable  truth. 
By  a  strange  fate  we  who  only  met  a  few  months  since  have 
come  to  share  in  common,  very  sad  knowledge.  The  mem- 
ory of  your  own  past,  and,  I  suppose,  your  Christian  faith 
also,  have  made  you  very  merciful  and  generous,  but  I  shall 
tax  these  qualities  no  further." 

"What  will  you  do,  Mr.  Van  Berg?"  Ida  asked,  in  sud- 
den dread. 

"I  shall  never  look  Miss  Burton  in  the  face  again,  and 
after  I  have  written  to  her  simply  and  briefly  what  I  have 
told  you,  her  regret  will  be  small  indeed.  Good- by,  Miss 
May  hew.  If  I  stay  any  longer  I  may  speak  words  to  you 
that  would  be  insults,  coming  from  me." 

"Stay,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "I  have  something  very  im- 
portant to  say  to  you." 

He  hesitated  and  looked  at  her  in  strong  surprise. 

"Give  me  a  few  moments  to  think,"  she  pleaded,  and 
he  saw,  from  the  quick  rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom  and  the 
nervous  clasp  of  her  hands,  that  she  was  deeply  agitated. 
She  turned  from  him  and  looked  wistfully  at  the  young 
tree  on  which  she  had  inscribed  her  name  the  day  she  had 
promised  Mr.  Eltinge  to  receive  all  heavenly  influences  and 
guidance.  She  soon  lifted  her  eyes  above  the  tree  and  her 
lips  moved  in  as  earnest  prayer  as  ever  came  from  a  human 


474  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

heart.  She  was  facing  the  sorest  temptation  of  her  life,  for 
she  had  only  to  be  silent  now,  she  believed,  and  the  success 
of  her  efforts  to  win  him  from  Jennie  Burton  would  be  com- 
plete. If  left  to  himself  in  this  wild,  distracted  mood  he 
would  indeed  break  every  tie  that  bound  him  to  her  rival; 
but  after  time  had  blunted  his  poignant  self-condemnation 
he  would  inevitably  come  back  to  her.  Then  conscience 
whispered:  "Who  forgave  you  here  ?  What  did  you  prom- 
ise here?  What  does  that  tree  mean  with  its  branches 
reaching  out  toward  heaven?  What  would  you  think  of 
Jennie  Burton  were  she  trying  to  win  him  from  you?" 

"Oh,  Friend  of  the  weak!  be  thou  my  strength  in  this 
moment  of  desperate  need, ' '  she  sighed. 

Van  Berg  watched  her  with  increasing  wonder,  and  his 
heart  beat  thick  and  fast  as  she  at  last  turned  to  him  with 
an  expression  such  as  he  never  had  seen  before  on  a  human 
face.  Was  it  the  autumn  sunlight  that  illumined  her  fea- 
tures ?  He  learned  eventually  that  it  was  the  spiritual  radi- 
ance of  the  noblest  self-sacrifice  of  which  a  woman  is  capable. 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,"  she  said,  in  tones  that  were  quiet  and 
firm,  "please  take  Mr.  Eltinge's  seat,  for  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you  as  a  friend." 

He  obeyed  mechanically,  without  removing  his  eyes  from 
her  face. 

"I  once  took  counsel  of  passion  and  despair,"  she  re- 
sumed, "and  you  know  what  might  have  resulted,  but  on 
this  spot  God  forgave  me  and  I  promised  to  try  to  do  right. 
With  shame  I  confess  I  have  not  fully  kept  that  promise, 
but  I  shall  try  to  do  so  hereafter,  be  the  consequences  what 
they  may.  Pardon  me  for  speaking  so  plainly,  but  you  are 
now  taking  counsel  of  passion  and  turning  your  back  on 
duty.  W  hile  almost  insane  from  self-reproach  and  wounded 
pride  you  are  taking  steps  that  may  blast  your  own  life  and 
the  lives  of  others.  To  my  mind  there  is  an  infinite  distance 
between  the  error  you  naturally  fell  into  in  view  of  Miss 
Burton's  loveliness  of  character  and  any  base  intent,  but 
even  if  I  should  share  in  your  harsh  judgment — which  I 


AN   ILLUMINED    FACE  475 

never  can — I  would  still  say  that  you  cannot  help  the  past, 
and  you  are  now  bound  by  all  that's  sacred  to  ask  only 
what  is  right,  and  to  do  that  at  every  cost  to  yourself. 
You  are  pledged  to  Miss  Burton,  and  you  must  make  good 
your  pledge." 

"What!  I  go  to  that  snow-white  maiden  with  a  lie  on 
my  lips!"   he  exclaimed  indignantly. 

"No!  go  to  her  with  truth  on  your  lips  and  in  your 
heart,  except  as  in  unselfish  loyalty  to  her  and  to  your  word 
you  may  hide  some  truth  that  would  give  her  pain.  Mr. 
Van  Berg,  your  word  is  pledged.  You  have  won  her  love 
and  this  is  your  only  honorable  course.  Thus  far  you  have 
not  done  her  intentional  wrong,  but  if  you  rush  away  from 
duty  now  in  cowardly  flight  you  will  do  her  a  bitter  and 
fatal  wrong,  for  she  loves  you  as  only  few  women  can  love. 
She  has  grown  wan  and  pale  in  your  absence,  and  it  touched 
me  to  the  heart  to  see  her  yesterday,  though  she  made  such 
brave  efforts  to  be  cheerful  and  to  encourage  father.  0 
God,  forgive  me  that  I — Go  to  her  when  you  have  become 
calm — your  true  self.  Love  like  hers  will  take  what  you 
can  give  till  you  can  give  more,  and  surely  one  so  lovely 
will  soon  win  all.  If  ever  I  have  seen  human  idolatry  in 
any  face  it  has  been  in  hers,  and  she  will  soon  banish  all 
this  wild  passion  from  your  mind.  But  be  that  as  it  may 
you  must  keep  your  word  if  you  would  keep  my  respect, 
and  I  would  not  lose  my  respect  for  you  for  the  world. 
I  know  you  too  well  to  doubt  but  that  you  will  take  up  this 
sacred  duty  and  seek  to  perform  it  with  the  whole  strength 
of  your  manhood. " 

Never  for  a  moment  had  Van  Berg  removed  his  eyes 
from  Ida's  face,  and  her  words  and  manner  seemed  both  to 
awe  and  control  him.  As  she  spoke,  his  expression  be- 
came quiet  and  strong,  and  when  she  concluded  he  came 
to  her  side  and  said  earnestly: 

"Miss  May  hew,  since  it  is  still  possible,  I  will  keep  your 
respect,  for  it  is  absolutely  essential  to  me.  God  has  indeed 
given   you  a  woman's    soul,   and   he  never  made  a  nobler 


476  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

woman.  You  are  a  friend  in  truth  and  not  in  name,  and 
you  have  saved  me  from  madly  destroying  my  own  future, 
and  perhaps  the  future  of  others,  which  is  of  far  more  con- 
sequence. If  I  fail  in  obeying  both  the  letter  and  spirit  of 
your  words  it  will  be  because  I  cannot  help  myself." 

Her  face,  which  had  been  so  sweet  and  luminous  with 
her  generous  impulse  and  noble  thoughts,  was  growing  very 
pale  now,  but  she  rose  and  gave  him  her  hand,  saying  with 
a  faint  smile  that  was  like  the  fading  light  of  evening,  "I 
knew  you  would  not  disappoint  me;  I  was  sure  you  were 
worthy  of  my  trust.  Let  the  honest  right  be  our  motto 
henceforth,  and  all  will  be  well  some  day.     Good- by." 

He  pressed  her  hand  in  both  of  his  as  he  said  fervently, 
"God  bless  you,  Ida  Mayhew!"  Then  he  turned  and  hast- 
ened away,  flying  from  his  own  weakness  and  a  womanly 
loveliness  which  at  that  moment  far  excelled  any  ideal  he 
had  ever  formed. 

He  had  scarcely  reached  the  road  before  he  remembered 
that  he  had  left  his  sketch-book,  and  he  went  back  for  it,  but 
as  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  shady  path  he  stopped  in- 
stantly. The  strong,  clear-eyed  maiden  who  had  rallied  the 
forces  of  his  shattered  manhood,  and  given  him  the  vantage- 
ground  again  in  life's  battle,  had  bowed  her  head  on  the 
arm  of  the  rustic  seat  and  was  sobbing  convulsively.  In- 
deed, her  grief  was  so  uncontrollable  and  passionate  that 
in  his  very  soul  he  trembled  before  it. 

"Oh,  Jennie  Burton,"  she  moaned,  "it  would  have  been 
easier  for  me  to  die  for  you  than  to  give  him  up.  God  help 
him — God  help  me  through  the  dreadful  years  to  come!" 

His  first  impulse  was  to  spring  to  her  side,  but  he  hesi- 
tated, and  then  with  a  gesture  and  look  of  infinite  regret  he 
turned  and  stole  silently  away. 


A    NIGHTS    VIGIL  477 


CHAPTER  LIII 
A    night's    vigil 

AS  Van  Berg  left  Mr.  Eltinge's  grounds  he  had  the 
aspect  of  a  man  who  had  seen  a  vision.  He  had 
seen  more,  for  the  human  face  expressive  of  abso- 
lute, even  though  brief,  mastery  over  evil  is  a  nobler  object 
than  can  be  the  serene  visage  of  a  sinless  and  untempted 
angel. 

At  last  he  understood  Ida  Mayhew.  If  he  had  deeply 
honored  her  when  he  supposed  that  as  a  sincere,  honest 
friend  only  she  had  spoken  her  strong,  true  words,  which 
might  save  him  from  wrecking  his  life  from  impulses  of 
shame  and  wounded  pride,  how  instantaneously  was  this 
honor  changed  into  reverence  and  wonder  as  he  recog- 
nized her  self-sacrifice  at  the  dictates  of  conscience.  All 
was  now  perfectly  clear.  The  truth  of  her  love  had  flashed 
out  from  the  dark  cloud  of  her  passionate  grief,  and  in  its 
white  radiance  all  the  baffling  mystery  of  her  past  action 
was  dissipated  instantly.  Now  he  knew  why  the  brilliant 
music  at  the  concert  garden  could  not  brighten  her  face, 
and  the  end  of  the  symphony  saw  her  in  tears.  Now  he 
understood  why  she  could  not  be  Jennie  Burton's  friend, 
even  though  capable  of  becoming  a  martyr  for  her  sake 
from  a  sense  of  duty.  The  despairing  farewell  letter  she 
had  once  written  to  him  now  became  fraught  with  a  deeper 
jaeaning,  and  he  saw  that  in  throwing  away  the  imperfect 
losebud,  and  in  looking  at  her  as  a  creature  akin  to  Sibley, 
he  had  inflicted  mortal  wounds  on  a  heart  that  gave  him 
only  love  in  return.  In  her  desperate  effort  to  conceal  an 
unsought  love  she  had  sought  the  nearest  covert,  and  the 


478  A    FACE   ILLUMINED, 

stains  Sibley  had  left  upon  her  were  no  more  hers  than  if 
he  had  been  a  blackened  wall.  After  all  her  woman's  soul 
had  come  to  her  as  in  the  old  and  simple  times  when  even 
water  nymphs  had  hearts,  and  love  was  still  the  mightiest 
force  in  the  universe. 

His  feeling  now  was  far  too  deep  for  his  former  half- 
frenzied  excitement.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  exultation 
in  his  manner,  and  there  was  indeed  no  ground  for  rapture. 
Only  the  knowledge  that  he  carried  away  her  respect,  and 
that  he  was  going  to  the  performance  of  what  he  believed 
a  sacred  duty,  kept  him  from  despair. 

He  did  not  blame  himself  as  bitterly  as  might  have  been 
supposed  that  he  had  not  discovered  her  secret  earlier,  and 
it  increased  his  admiration  for  her,  if  that  were  possible, 
that  she  had  so  carefully  maintained  her  maidenly  reserve. 
A  conceited  man,  or  at  least  a  man  whose  soul  was  infested 
with  the  meanest  kind  of  conceit — that  of  imagining  that 
the  woman  who  gives  him  a  friendly  word  or  smile  is  dis- 
posed to  throw  herself  into  his  arms — would  no  doubt  have 
surmised  her  secret  before;  but  although  Van  Berg  was  in- 
tensely proud,  as  we  have  seen,  and  had  been  rendered  self- 
complacent  and  self-confident  by  the  circumstances  of  his 
lot,  he  had  none  of  this  contemptible  vanity.  The  discov- 
ery of  Ida's  love  caused  him  far  greater  surprise  than  when 
he  recognized  his  own,  and  it  was  a  source  of  deep  satisfac- 
tion to  him  that  this  modern  and  conventional  Undine  had 
received  a  nature  of  such  true  and  womanly  delicacy  that  it 
had  led  her  to  conceal  her  love  like  the  trailing  arbutus  that 
hides  its  fragrant  blossoms  under  fallen  leaves. 

The  light  had  been  so  clear  that  he  even  saw  the  tempta- 
tion which  he  unconsciously  had  suggested  to  her  while  in 
the  city.  Unlike  the  little  violet  that  weakly  bowed  its 
head  and  died  because  the  brook  would  not  stop,  she  had 
resolutely  set  about  the  task  of  making  him  stop,  and  yet 
never  let  him  suspect  that  she  was  even  looking  at  him. 
Hence  her  attempt  to  penetrate  the  wilderness  of  knowledge 
which  was  at  once  so  pathetic  and  comical;  hence  also  her 


A    MQHT'S    VIGIL  479 

wish  to  learn  ihe   authors   and   subjects  which  interested 
him. 

"And  she  had  every  reason  to  believe  that  she  might 
have  won  me  from  the  one  honorable  allegiance  I  can 
give,"  he  exclaimed,  in  deep  humiliation,  "and  probably 
she  would  have  done  so  eventually  had  she  not  acted  like 
a  saint  rather  than  a  woman.  I've  lost  faith  utterly  in 
Harold  Van  Berg,  and  it  will  require  a  great  many  years 
to  regain  it." 

When  he  reached  a  dense  tract  of  woodland  through 
which  the  road  ran,  he  concealed  himself  and  waited  till 
she  should  pass.  Two  hours  elapsed  before  she  did  so. 
The  passionate  grief  that  had  overwhelmed  her  was  no 
slight  and  passing  gust.  He  saw  that  she  leaned  back 
weakly  and  languidly  in  the  phaeton,  and  had  hidden  her 
face  by  a  veil  of  double  thickness.  He  followed  her  at  a 
distance  far  too  great  for  recognition  until  she  entered  the 
hotel,  and  then  sought  to  obtain  a  little  rest  and  food  at 
the  nearest  village  inn;  for  he  found  now  that  his  fierce 
paroxysm  of  rage  and  mental  torment  was  over,  he  had 
become  very  faint,  and  exhausted.  After  he  had  regained 
somewhat  the  power  to  think  and  act,  he  turned  his  steps 
toward  a  narrow,  secluded  ravine,  about  a  mile  from  the 
hotel,  knowing  that  here  he  would  find  the  deepest  solitude 
in  which  to  grow  calm  and  prepare  himself  for  the  quiet 
self-sacrifice  of  which  Ida  had  given  the  example,  and 
which  no  eye  must  be  able  to  detect  save  his  to  whom  the 
secrets  of  all  hearts  are  open. 

He  made  no  effort  to  follow  any  path,  but  sprang  care- 
lessly and  rapidly  down  the  steep  hillside.  When  he  had 
almost  reached  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  his  foot  slipped  on 
a  rock  half  hidden  by  leaves,  and  he  fell  and  rolled  help- 
lessly down.  Before  he  could  recover  himself,  the  rock, 
which  had  been  loosely  imbedded  in  the  soil  and  which  his 
foot  had  struck  so  heavily,  rolled  after  him  and  on  his  leg 
and  foot.  In  sudden  and  increasing  dismay,  he  found  that 
he  could  not  extricate  himself.     The  stone  would  have  been 


480  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

almost  beyond  his  ability  to  lift  even  if  he  had  the  full  use 
of  all  his  powers;  but  he  was  held  in  a  position  that  gave 
him  very  little  chance  to  exert  his  strength. 

When  he  found  that  it  was  utterly  impossible  to  push 
the  stone  away,  he  tried  to  excavate  the  earth,  by  means  of 
sticks  and  his  small  pocket-knife,  from  under  his  leg,  but 
soon  found,  with  a  sense  of  mortal  fear,  that  his  limb  was 
resting  in  a  little  depression  between  two  other  large  rocks 
deeply  imbedded  in  the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  This  depres- 
sion, and  the  soft,  dry  leaves  which  had  covered  it  like  a 
cushion,  prevented  the  stone  from  crushing  his  limb  and 
foot,  bat  also  held  him  in  a  sort  of  natural  stock. 

As  these  appalling  facts  became  clear,  he  saw  that  he 
was  in  imminent  danger  of  death  by  starvation.  Then  a 
worse  fear  than  that  chilled  his  very  soul.  He  might  die 
in  that  lonely  spot  and  never  be  discovered.  The  prowling 
vermin  of  the  night  might  tear  away  his  flesh,  and  drag  his 
bones  hither  and  thither,  till  the  leaves  that  now  would  soon 
fall  covered  them  forever  from  sight  and  knowledge;  but 
Ida  Mayhew,  and  the  orphan  girl  to  whom  his  honor  bound 
him,  would  think  that  he  had  broken  his  pledges,  and  was 
in  truth  a  vagabond  on  the  earth — eating  and  drinking,  riot- 
ing, perhaps,  in  ignoble  obscurity.  The  prospect  made  him 
sick  and  faint  for  a  time,  for  that  which  in  his  first  blind 
sense  of  shame  he  had  proposed  to  do,  now  that  he  had 
heard  Ida's  heaven -inspired  words,  seemed  base  and  cow- 
ardly to  the  last  degree.  If  she  had  not  brought  to  him 
sane  and  quiet  thought,  he  would  have  grimly  said  to  him- 
self that  fate  had  taken  him  out  of  his  dilemma  in  a  fitting 
way,  punishing  and  destroying  him  at  one  and  the  same 
time;  but  now  to  die  and  forever  seem  unworthy  of  the 
trust  of  the  woman  he  so  loved  and  revered  was  a  kind  of 
eternal  punishment  in  itself.  He  called  and  shouted  with 
desperate  energy  for  aid,  but  the  freshening  wind  of  early 
September  rustled  millions  of  leaves  in  the  forest  around 
him  and  drowned  his  voice.  He  soon  realized  that  one 
standing  on  the   bank  just  above  him  would  scarcely  be 


A    NIGHT'S    VIGIL  481 

able  to  hear,  even  though  listening.  Oh,  why  would  that 
remorseless  wind  blow  so  steadily !  Was  there  do  pity  in 
nature  ? 

Then  in  frenzy  he  struggled  and  wrenched  his  leg  till 
it  was  bruised  and  bleeding,  but  the  rocky  grip  would  not 
yield.  He  soon  began  to  consider  that  he  was  exhausting 
himself  and  thus  lessening  his  chances  of  escape,  and  he 
lay  quietly  on  his  side  and  tried  to  think  how  long  he  could 
survive,  and  now  deeply  regretted  that  his  wild  passion  for 
the  past  two  days  had  drawn  so  largely  on  his  vital  powers. 
Already,  after  but  an  hour's  durance,  he  was  weak  and  faint. 

Then  various  expedients  to  attract  attention  began  to 
present  themselves.  By  means  of  a  stick  he  drew  down 
the  overhanging  branch  of  a  tree  and  tied  to  it  his  hand- 
kerchief. He  also  managed  to  insert  a  stick  in  the  ground 
near  him,  and  on  its  top  placed  his  hat,  but  he  saw  that 
they  could  not  be  seen  through  the  thick  undergrowth  at 
any  great  distance.  Then  more  deliberately,  and  with  an 
effort  to  economize  his  strength,  he  again  attempted  to  un- 
dermine the  rocks  on  which  his  leg  rested,  but  found  that 
they  ran  under  him  and  hopelessly  deep.  At  intervals  he 
would  shout  for  help,  but  his  cries  grew  fainter  as  he  be- 
came weak  and  discouraged. 

"0  God,"  he  said,  "there  is  just  the  bare  chance  that 
some  one  may  stumble  upon  me,  and  that  is  all;"  and  as 
the  glen  fell  into  deeper  and  deeper  shadow  in  the  declin- 
ing day,  even  more  swiftly  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  shadow 
of  death  was  darkening  about  him. 

At  last  the  bark  of  squirrels  and  the  chirp  and  twitter  of 
birds  that  haunted  the  lonely  place  ceased  and  it  was  night. 
Only  the  notes  of  fall  insects  in  their  monotonous  and  cease- 
less iteration  were  heard  above  the  sighing  wind,  which  now 
sounded  like  a  requiem  to  the  disheartened  man.  Suddenly 
a  great  owl  flapped  heavily  over  him,  and  lighting  in  a  tree 
near  by,  began  its  discordant  hootings. 

"That's  an  omen  of  death,"  he  muttered,  grimly.  Then 
at  last,  in  uncontrollable  irritation,  he  shouted,  "Curse  you, 

-  21— Ron— XT! 


482  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

begone !"  and  the  ill-boding  bird  napped  away  with  a  startled 
screech,  that  to  Van  Berg's  morbid  fancy  was  like  a  demon's 
laugh.  Bat  it  alighted  again  a  little  further  off  and  drove 
him  half  wild  with  its  dismal  cries.  At  last  there  was  a*ra- 
diance  among  the  trees  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  ravine,  and 
soon  the  moon  rose  clear  and  bright;  the  wind  went  down, 
and  except  the  "audible  silence"  of  insect  sounds  all  was 
still.  Nature  seemed  to  him  holding  her  breath  in  sus- 
pense, waiting  for  the  end.  He  called  out  from  time  to 
time  till,  from  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  he  knew  that  it 
was  utterly  useless. 

He  began,  in  a  dreamy  way,  to  wonder  if  Ida  had  missed 
him  yet  and  was  surprised  that  he  had  not  returned.  He 
thought  how  strange,  how  unaccountable  even,  his  conduct 
must  appear  to  Miss  Burton,  and  how  very  difficult  it  would 
have  been  to  explain  it  at  best.  "Ida  is  wrong,  however, 
in  thinking  that  it  is  for  me  that  she  is  grieving  so  deeply," 
he  murmured,  "although  she  may  be  right  in  believing  that 
I  have  raised  hopes  in  Jennie's  mind  of  a  happier  future, 
when  time  had  healed  the  wounds  made  in  the  past.  If  I 
had  lived,  if  by  any  happy  chance  I  do  live,  my  only  course 
will  be  to  maintain  the  character  of  a  friend  until  she  gives 
up  the  past  for  the  sake  of  what  I  can  offer.  In  a  certain 
sense  we  will  be  on  an  equal  footing,  for  her  lover  is  dead 
and  my  love  is  the  same  as  dead  to  me.  But  what  is  the 
use  of  such  thoughts!  I  shall  be  dead  to  them  both  in  a 
few  hours  more,  and  what  is  far  worse,  despised  by  them 
both,"  and  for  the  first  time  in  all  that  awful  vigil  bitter 
tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

Then,  slowly  and  minutely,  he  went  over  all  that  had 
occurred  during  that  eventful  summer.  He  found  a  melan- 
choly pleasure  which  served  to  beguile  the  interminable 
hours  of  pain — for  now  his  leg  and  unnatural  position  be- 
gan to  cause  very  severe  suffering— in  portraying  to  himself 
the  changes  in  Ida's  mind  and  character  from  the  hour  of 
their  first  meeting,  and  it  seemed  to  him  very  mysterious 
indeed  that  the  thread  of  his  life  should  have  been  caught 


A    NIGHT'S    VIGIL  483 

in  hers  by  that  mere  casual  glance  at  the  concert  garden, 
and  then  that  it  should  have  been  so  strangely  and  inti- 
mately interwoven  with  hers  only  to  be  snapped  at  last  in 
this  untimely  and  meaningless  fashion.  He  groaned,  "It's 
all  more  like  the  malicious  ingenuity  of  a  fiend  striving  to 
cause  the  weak  human  puppets  that  it  misleads  the  great- 
est amount  of  suffering,  than  like  the  haphazard  of  a  blind 
fate,  or  the  work  of  a  kind  and  good  God.  Oh,  if  I  had 
only  waited  till  my  Undine  received  her  woman's  soul, 
what  a  heaven  I  might  have  had  on  earth!  She  would 
have  filled  my  studio  with  light  and  beauty,  and  my  life 
with  honor  and  happiness.  Never,  never  was  there  a  more 
cruel  fate  than  mine!  I  shall  die,  and  my  only  burial  will 
be  the  infamy  which  will  cover  my  memory  forever." 

Then,  with  a  dreary  sinking  of  heart,  his  mind  reverted 
to  the  long  future  before  him  that  was  now  so  terribly  vague 
and  dark.  In  the  consciousness  of  solitude  and  in  order  to 
break  the  oppressive  stillness,  he  spoke  aloud  at  intervals 
between  his  paroxysms  of  pain.  "After  all,  what  is  dying? 
I  know  how  deeply  rooted  in  the  human  mind  is  the  belief 
that  it  is  only  a  departure  to  another  place  and  a  different 
condition  of  life.  Can  a  conviction  that  has  been  universal 
in  all  ages  and  among  all  peoples  be  a  delusion?  Then 
whoever  or  whatever  created  human  nature  built  it  on  a  lie. 
This  accursed  rock  has  fallen  on  my  body,  and  holds  it  as 
if  it  were  a  mere  clod  of  earth,  as  it  soon  may  be;  but  it 
does  not  hold  my  mind.  My  thoughts  have  followed  father, 
and  dear,  dear  mother,  and  sister  Laura  across  the  sea  a 
hundred  times  to-night.  But  oh,  how  strangely  my  thoughts 
come  back  from  every  one — everything  to  that  dear  saint  who 
sacrificed  herself  for  me  to-day.  And  yet  I'm  leaving  her, 
I'm  leaving  all.  Whither  am  I  going  ?  It's  all  dark,  dark; 
vague  and  dreary.  Oh,  that  I  bad  her  simple  faith !  Whether 
true  or  no  it  would  be  an  infinite  comfort  now.  What  did 
she  say  ? — 'I've  found  a  Friend  pledged  to  take  care  of  me.' 
That  is  all  I  would  ask.  I  would  not  be  afraid  to  go  out 
into  this  great  universe  if  I  only  had  such  a  Friend  as  she 


484  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

believes  in,  waiting  to  receive  me.  Who  cares  how  strange 
a  place  may  be  if  a  loved  friend  meets  and  greets  us?  But 
to  go  alone,  and  away  from  so  much  to  which  my  heart 
clings — oh,  it  is  awful!  awful! — 

"A  man  can't  die,  ought  not  to  die,  like  a  stupid  beast 
unless  he  is  a  beast  only;  nor  should  death  drag  us  like 
trembling  captives  from  the  shores  of  time.  And  yet  I 
must  do  one  of  three  things:  either  wait  helplessly  and  in 
trembling  expectancy,  or  take  counsel  of  pride  and  stub- 
bornly and  sullenly  meet  the  future,  or  else  appeal  to  Ida's 
Friend.  It  seems  mean  business  to  do  the  last  now  in  my 
extremity,  but  I  well  know  that  Ida  would  counsel  it,  and 
by  reaching  her  Friend  I  may  at  some  time  in  the  future 
reach  her  again.  I  know  well  how  my  mother — were  I 
dying — would  urge  me  to  look  to  him,  whom  she  in  loyal 
faith  worships  daily,  and  thus  I  may  see  her  once  more. 
The  Bible  teaches  how  many  in  their  extremity  looked  to 
Christ  and  he  helped  them.  But  then  they  had  not  known 
about  him,  and  coldly  and  almost  contemptuously  neglected 
him  for  years  as  I  have.  Oh,  what  has  my  reason,  of  which 
I  have  been  so  proud,  done  for  me,  save  blast  my  earthly  life 
with  folly,  and  permitted  the  neglect  of  all  preparation  for 
an  eternal  life?  If  ever  a  self-confident  man  was  taught  how 
utterly  incapable  he  was  of  meeting  events  and  questions 
that  might  occur  within  a  few  brief  days,  I  am  he,  and  yet, 
vain  fool  that  I  was !  I  was  practically  acting  as  if  I  could 
meet  all  that  would  happen  to  all  eternity  in  a  cool,  well- 
bred,  masterful  way.  Poor  untrained,  untaught  Ida  May- 
hew  said  she  had  'found  a  Friend  pledged  to  take  care  of 
her,'  and  he  has  taken  care  of  her.  He  has  made  her  life 
true,  noble,  heroic,  beneficent.  I  was  content  to  take  care 
of  myself,  and  this  is  the  result.  God  might  well  turn 
away  in  disgust  from  any  prayer  of  mine  now,  but  may  I 
be  accursed  if  I  do  not  become  a  Christian  man,  if  by  any 
means  I  now  escape  death!" 

But  in  his  intense  longing  to  see  again  those  he  loved  so 
well,  and  tell  them  that  he  had  not  basely  broken  his  pledges 


A    NIGHTS    VIGIL  485 

and  fled  like  a  coward  from  duty,  he  did  pray  with  all  the 
agonized  earnestness  of  a  soul  clinging  to  the  one  hope  that 
intervened  between  itself  and  utter  despair,  but  the  moon 
moved  on  serenely  and  sank  among  the  trees  on  the  western 
bank  of  the  ravine.  The  night  darkened  again  and  the  stars 
came  out  more  clearly  with  their  cold  distant  glitter.  Na- 
ture's breathless  hush  and  expectancy  continued,  and  there 
was  no  sound  without  and  no  answer  within  the  heart  of  the 
despairing  man.  At  last,  in  weakness  and  discouragement, 
he  moaned: 

"Well,  thank  God,  brave  Ida  May  hew  put  an  honorable 
purpose  in  my  heart  before  I  died,  and  I  meant  to  have 
carried  it  out.  There's  no  use  of  praying,  for  it  seems  as  if 
I  were  no  more  than  one  of  these  millions  of  leaves  over 
my  head  when  it  falls  from  its  place.  Nature  is  pitiless  and 
God  is  as  cold  toward  me  as  I  was  once  to  one  who  turned 
her  appealing  eyes  to  me  for  a  little  kindness  and  sympathy. 
Oh,  God!  if  I  must  die,  let  it  be  soon,  for  my  pain  and 
thirst  are  becoming  intolerable." 

The  dawn  was  now  brightening  the  east.  Nature,  as  if 
tired  of  waiting — like  some  professed  friends — for  one  who 
was  long  in  dying,  ceased  its  breathless  hush.  A  fresh 
breeze  rustled  the  motionless  leaves,  birds  withdrew  their 
heads  from  under  their  wings,  and  began  the  twittering 
preliminary  to  their  morning  songs;  and  two  squirrels, 
springing  from  their  nest  in  a  hollow  tree,  like  children 
from  a  cottage  door,  scrambled  down  and  over  Van  Berg's 
prostrate  form  in  their  wild  sport,  but  he  was  too  weak,  too 
far  gone  in  dull,  heavy  apathy  to  heed  them. 

At  last  he  thought  he  was  dying,  and  he  became  uncon- 
scious. He  learned  that  it  was  only  a  swoon,  from  the  fact 
that  he  revived  again,  and  was  dimly  conscious  of  sounds 
near  him.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  half  asleep,  and 
that  he  could  not  wake  up  sufficiently  to  distinguish  whether 
the  sounds  were  heard  in  a  dream  or  in  reality.  But  he 
soon  became  sure  that  some  one  was  crying  and  moaning 
not  far  away,  and  he  naturally  associated  such  evidences  of 


486  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

distress  with  what  he  had  seen  last  in  Mr.  Eltinge's  garden. 
He  therefore  called  feebly: 

41  Ida— Ida  May  hew." 

"Merciful  God!"  exclaimed  a  voice,  uwho  is  that?" 

His  heart  beat  so  fast  he  could  not  answer  at  once,  but 
he  heard  a  light,  swift  step;  the  shrubbery  and  low  branches 
of  the  trees  were  swept  aside,  and  Jennie  Burton's  blue 
eyes,  full  of  tears  but  dilated  with  wonder  and  fear,  looked 
upon  him. 

41  Oh,  Jennie  Burton,  good  angel  of  God!  he  has  sent 
you  to  me,"  cried  the  rescued  man,  who  with  a  glad  thrill 
of  joy  felt  that  life  was  coming  back  in  the  line  of  honor 
and  duty. 

44 Harold  Van  Berg!  what  are  you  doing  here?"  she 
asked  in  wild  amazement. 

44 1  was  dying  till  you  came  and  brought  me  hope  and 
life,  as  you  have  to  so  many  others." 

44 Thank  God,  thank  God,"  she  panted,  and  she  rushed 
at  the  rock  that  had  held  him  in  such  terrible  durance. 

He  struggled  up  and  tried  to  pull  her  hands  away. 

44 Don't  do  that,  Jennie,"  he  said;  "you  are  not  quite  an 
angel  yet,  and  cannot  'roll  the  stone  away.' 

44 Oh,  God!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  sharp  cry  of  agony, 
44 in  some  such  way  and  place  he  may  have  died,"  and  she 
sank  on  the  ground,  moaning  and  wringing  her  hands  as  if 
overwhelmed  with  agony  at  the  thought. 

Van  Berg  reached  out  and  took  her  hand,  forgetting 
for  a  moment  his  own  desperate  need,  as  he  said:  "Dear 
Jennie,  don't  grieve  so  terribly." 

4 'God  forgive  me,  that  I  could  forget  you!"  she  said, 
starting  up.  "I  must  not  lose  a  second  in  bringing  you 
help." 

But  he  clung  feebly  to  her  hand.  "Wait,  Jennie,  till 
you  are  more  calm.  My  life  depends  on  you  now.  The 
hotel  is  a  long  way  off,  and  if  you  start  in  your  present 
mood  you  will  never  reach  it  yourself,  and  I  had  better 
die  a  thousand  times  than  cause  harm  to  you. " 


A    NIGHTS    VIGIL  487 

She  put  her  hand  on  her  side  and  her  convulsive  sob- 
bing soon  ceased.  After  a  moment  or  two  she  said  quietly: 
"You  can  trust  me  now,  Mr.  Van  Berg;  I  won't  fail  you." 

"Do  you  think  you  could  bring  me  a  little  water  before 
you  go?"   he  asked. 

"Yes,  there's  a  spring  near;  I  know  this  place  well," 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  flitted  back  and  forth  like 
a  ray  of  light,  bringing  all  the  water  she  could  carry  in  a 
large  leaf. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  with  a  long  deep  breath,  "did  ever  a 
sweeter  draught  pass  mortal  lips?  and  from  your  hands,  too, 
Jennie  Burton.  May  I  die  as  I  would  have  died  here  if  I 
do  not  devote  my  life  to  making  you  happy!" 

"I  accept  that  pledge,"  she  said,  with  a  wan  smile  that 
on  her  pale,  tear-stained  face  was  inexpressibly  touching. 
"It  makes  me  bold  enough  to  ask  one  more  promise." 

"It's  made  already,  so  help  me  God!"  he  replied, 
fervently. 

A  faint,  far-away  gleam  of  something  like  mirth  came 
into  her  deep-blue  eyes  as  she  said:  "I've  bound  you  now, 
and  you  can  have  no  choice.  Your  pledge  is  this — that  you 
will  make  me  happy  in  my  own  way.  Now,  not  another 
word,  not  another  motion;  keep  every  particle  of  life  and 
strength  till  I  come  again  with  assistance,"  and  she  brought 
him  water  twice  again,  silencing  him  by  an  imperious  gesture 
when  he  attempted  to  speak,  and  then  she  disappeared. 

"That  was  an  odd  pledge  she  beguiled  me  into,"  he 
murmured.  "I  fear  that  in  the  wiles  of  her  unselfish  heart 
she  has  caught  me  in  some  kind  of  a  trap."  But  after  a 
little  time  he  relapsed  again  into  a  condition  of  partial 
unconsciousness. 


488  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 


CHAPTER   LIV 

LIFE     AND     TRUST 

IDA  did  not  leave  the  refuge  of  her  room  for  several 
hours  after  her  return  from  the  memorable  visit  to 
Mr.  Eltinge's  garden— for  far  more  than  the  long  hot 
drive,  her  heroic  spiritual  conflict  with  temptation,  the 
sense  of  immeasurable  loss,  and  the  overwhelming  sorrow 
that  followed,  had  exhausted  her.  As  she  rallied  from  her 
deep  depression,  which  was  physical  as  well  as  mental,  and 
found  that  she  could  think  connectedly,  she  turned  to 
her  Bible  in  the  hope  of  discovering  some  comforting  and 
reassuring  truths  spoken  by  that  Friend  for  whose  sake 
she  had  given  up  so  much. 

These  words  caught  her  attention,  and  in  accordance 
with  the  simplicity  and  directness  of  her  nature  she  built 
upon  them  her  only  hope  for  the  future:  "He  that  loseth  his 
life  for  my  sake  shall  find  it!" 

She  sighed:  "I  have  lost  that  which  is  life  and  more 
than  life  to  me,  and  it  was  for  Christ's  sake.  It  was  because 
he  forgave  me  and  was  kind  in  that  awful  moment  when 
my  crime  was  crushing  my  soul.  I  could  not  have  given 
up  my  chance  of  happiness  just  because  it  was  right,  but 
the  thought  that  he  asked  it  and  that  it  was  for  his  sake, 
turned  the  wavering  scale;  and  now  I  will  trust  him  to  find 
my  life  for  me  again  in  his  own  time  and  way.  As  far  as 
this  world  is  concerned,  my  life  probably  will  be  an  in- 
creasing care  of  father  and  others,  who,  like  myself,  have, 
or  have  had  'a  worm  i'  the  bud.'  But  be  the  future  what  it 
may,  I've  made  my  choice  and  I  shall  abide  by  it." 


LIFE   AND    TRUST  489 

Then  she  turned  to  the  xiv.  chapter  of  St.  John,  that 
window  of  heaven  through  which  the  love  of  God  has  shone 
into  so  many  sad  hearts;  and  by  the  time  she  had  read  the 
words — "Peace  I  leave  with  you,  my  peace  I  give  unto  you; 
not  as  the  world  giveth,  give  I  unto  you.  Let  not  your 
heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it  be  afraid" — she  found  that 
the  peace  promised — deep,  quiet,  sustaining — was  stealing 
into  her  heart  as  the  dawn  turns  night  into  day.  Simple- 
minded  Ida  Mayhew  believed  that  Jesus  Christ  had  kept 
his  word,  for  that  was  all  faith  meant  to  her.  The  ration- 
alist practically  maintains  that  such  effects  are  without 
causes,  and  the  materialist  explains  that  they  are  physical 
conditions  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  state  of  the  nervous 
system. 

Ida  went  down  to  supper,  and  spent  the  evening  with 
her  mother  in  the  parlor.  She  resolved  to  take  up  her  bur- 
den at  once,  and  that  there  should  be  no  sentimental  sigh- 
ing in  solitude.  Though  so  sorely  wounded,  she  meant  to 
keep  her  place  in  the  ranks,  and  win  from  society  some- 
thing better  than  pity.  Jennie  Burton  looked  at  her  wist- 
fully and  wonderingly  many  times,  for  the  impress  of  the 
spiritual  experience  of  that  day  was  on  her  face,  and  made 
it  more  than  beautiful.  The  blending  of  sadness  and  seren- 
ity, of  quiet  strength  with  calm  resolve,  was  apparent  to 
one  possessing  Miss  Burton's  insight  into  character.  "Can 
it  be,"  she  thought,  "that  Van  Berg  has  discovered  her 
secret,  and  finds  that  while  he  can  give  her  warm  friendship 
and  sympathy  in  her  new  life,  he  cannot  give  any  more, 
and  has  made  as  much  apparent  to  her  by  his  manner?  I 
thought  I  detected  a  different  tendency  in  his  mind  before 
he  went  to  the  city.  Something  has  occurred  between  them 
evidently,  that  to  poor  Ida  means  giving  up  a  hope  that  is 
like  life  to  a  woman.  I  wish  she  would  let  me  talk  with 
her,  for  I  think  we  could  help  each  other.  There  is  cer- 
tainly a  sustaining  element  in  her  faith  which  I  do  not 
possess  or  understand.  Year  after  year  I  just  struggle  des- 
perately to  keep  from  sinking  into  despair,  and  the  conflict 


490  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

is  wearing  me  out.  How  to  meet  to-morrow  with  all  its 
memories  I  do  not  know.  I  can  see  from  the  expression  of 
Miss  May  hew' s  face  how  I  ought  to  meet  this  anniversary 
of  a  day  that  once  seemed  to  me  like  heaven's  gate;  but  all 
I  can  do  is  just  cling  to  my  hope  in  God,  while  I  cry  like 
a  child  that  has  lost  itself  and  all  it  loves  in  a  thorny  wilder- 
ness. I  do  wish  we  could  talk  frankly,  but  she  is  utterly 
unapproachable. ' ' 

Poor  Stanton  stalked  up  and  down  on  the  piazza  with- 
out, smoking  furiously  and  muttering  strange  oaths.  If  the 
troubles  that  preyed  upon  the  two  maidens  toward  whom 
his  heart  was  so  tender,  were  outward  enemies,  the  smallest 
grain  of  discretion  would  have  kept  them  out  of  his  way 
that  night,  and  if  Van  Berg  had  quietly  walked  up  the 
piazza  steps  as  Ida  was  expecting,  he  would  have  received 
anything  but  a  friendly  greeting.  That  he  did  not  come 
was  a  disappointment  to  Ida,  and  yet  deep  in  her  heart 
there  was  a  secret  satisfaction  that  he  found  it  so  difficult 
to  enter  on  the  task  that  duty  and  honor  demanded.  "I 
shall  see  him  at  breakfast,  however,"  she  thought;  "and 
he'll  be  quiet,  sane,  and  true  to  his  pledge." 

But  when  she  did  not  see  him  the  next  morning,  and 
also  learned  from  Stanton  that  he  had  not  been  in  his  room 
during  the  night,  forebodings  of  some  kind  of  evil  began 
coming  like  prowling  beasts  of  the  night  that  the  traveller 
cannot  drive  very  far  away  from  his  camp-fire.  Could  he 
have  broken  his  promise  to  her,  and  have  fled  from  duty 
after  all  ?  She  felt  that  she  would  love  him  no  matter 
what  he  did — for  poor  Ida  could  not  love  on  strictly  moral 
principles,  and  withdraw  her  love  in  offended  dignity  if  the 
occasion  required;  but  her  purer  and  womanly  instincts 
made  her  fear  that  if  he  forfeited  her  respect  her  love 
might  degenerate  into  passion. 

Her  wish  that  he  would  come  grew  more  intense  every 
moment,  and  from  her  heart  she  pitied  Jennie  Burton  as 
she  saw  her  turn  away  from  an  almost  untasted  breakfast, 
and  with  a  face  that  was  so  full  of  suffering  that  she  could 


LIFE    AND    TRUST  491 

not  disguise  it.  "If  he  fails  her  utterly  she'll  die,"  mur- 
mured Ida  as  she  climbed  wearily  to  her  room.  "Merciful 
Saviour  forgive  me  that  I  tried  to  tempt  him  from  her." 

She  watched  from  her  window,  but  he  did  not  come. 
She  saw  Jennie  Burton  hastening  away  on  one  of  the 
lonely  walks  to  which  she  was  given  of  late.  She  saw  Stan- 
ton drive  off  rapidly,  and  when  a  few  hours  later  he  came 
back,  she  went  down  to  meet  him,  and  asked  hesitatingly: 

"Have  you  seen  or  heard  anything  of  Mr.  Van  Berg?" 

"Confound  him!  no.  I  don't  see  what  the  deuce  he 
means  by  his  course!  Burleigh  says  he  has  not  seen  or 
heard  a  word  from  him  since  early  Monday  morning  when 
he  started  off  with  his  sketch-book,  and  Burleigh  also  savs 
he  seemed  very  glum  and  out  of  sorts  when  he  joked  him 
a  little.  I've  been  to  the  landing  and  depot,  and  no  one 
has  seen  him.  Unless  "Van  can  give  a  better  account  of 
himself  than  I  expect,  he  and  I  will  have  a  tremendous 
falling  out." 

"No,  Cousin  Ik,  you  will  leave  him  to  himself,  for  any- 
thing like  what  you  threaten  would  wound  two  hearts  al- 
ready sad  enough." 

"Well,  curse  it  all!  I  must  do  something  or  other,  or 
I'll  explode.  I  can't  sit  by  and  twirl  my  thumbs  while  two 
such  women  as  you  and  Miss  Burton  are  in  trouble.  When 
a  man  breaks  a  girl's  heart  I  feel  like  breaking  his  head." 

"Merciful  heaven!  See  —  quick — Miss  Burton — she's 
beckoning  to  you." 

Stanton  sprang  from  the  piazza  at  a  bound,  and  was  al- 
most instantly  at  Jennie's  Burton's  side,  who  sank  into 
a  seat  near,  and  gasped: 

"Do  as  I  bid — no  words — a  carriage,  and  a  stout  man 
with  yourself — take  brandy.  Haste,  or  Mr.  Van  Berg  will 
die." 

"Oh,  God!  don't  say  that,"  Ida  sobbed,  kneeling  at  her 
feet  with  a  low,  shuddering  cry. 

Jennie  stooped  over  and  kissed  her,  and  said:  "Courage, 
Miss  Mayhew,  all  will  yet  be  well.    Be  your  brave  self,  and 


492  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

you  can  help  me  save  him.    Tell  Mr.  Burleigh  to  come  here. 
Have  a  physician  sent  for." 

Ida  almost  dragged  the  bewildered  host  from  his  office. 
Under  the  inspiration  of  hope  her  motions  were  as  lithe  and 
swift  as  a  leopard's.  Within  five  minutes  after  Miss  Bur- 
ton's arrival,  a  carriage  containing  herself,  Stanton,  and  two 
stout  men,  dashed  furiously  toward  the  ravine  in  which  Van 
Berg  was  lying,  and  a  buggy  was  sent  with  equal  rapidity 
for  a  physician.  Then  came  to  poor  Ida  the  awful  suspense 
of  waiting,  which  is  so  often  woman's  part  in  life's  tragedies. 

"Oh,  can  it  be,"  she  thought,  with  thrills  of  dread  and 
horror,  "that  he  has  attempted  my  crime?"  and  she  grew 
sick  and  faint.  Then  she  resolutely  put  the  suspicion  away 
from  her  as  unjust  to  him.  "Will  they  never  return? 
0  God,  if  they  should  be  too  late!" 

She  stood  on  the  piazza  with  eyes  dilated  and  strained, 
in  one  direction,  caring  not  what  any  one  saw  or  surmised; 
but  in  the  increasing  excitement,  as  the  rumor  spread  and 
grew,  she  was  unnoticed. 

At  last  the  carriage  appeared,  and  it  was  driven  so  slowly 
and  carefully  that  it  suggested  to  the  poor  girl  the  deliber- 
ate and  mournful  pace  of  a  funeral  procession,  when  all  need 
for  haste  is  past  forever,  and  she  sprang  down  the  steps  in 
her  intense  anxiety,  and  took  some  swift  steps  before  she 
controlled  herself.  Then  pressing  her  hand  on  her  side,  she 
sank  into  the  seat  which  Miss  Burton  had  occupied  a  little 
before. 

Jennie  Burton  waved  a  handkerchief — that  meant  life. 
"Thank  God!"  she  murmured,  and  tears  of  joy  rushed  into 
her  eyes.  She  now  saw  that  Stanton  was  supporting  Van 
Berg.  She  sprang  up  the  steps  again,  broke  through  the 
excited  and  curious  throng  on  the  piazza,  and  was  back  with 
a  strong  armchair  from  the  office  by  the  time  the  carriage 
stopped  at  the  door. 

"That's  a  sensible  girl,  Ida,"  said  Stanton,  "that's  just 
the  thing  to  carry  him  in.  Now,  Van,  rally  and  do  your 
best  a  few  moments  longer,  and  you're  all  right." 


LIFE    AND    TRUST  493 

At  the  sound  of  Ida's  name  he  lifted  his  head  and  looked 
around  till  he  met  her  eyes,  and  then  smiled  gladly.  His 
smile  satisfied  her  completely,  and  she  stepped  quietly  into 
the  background.  "He  has  not  broken  his  pledge,  even  in 
thought,"  she  murmured.     "I  can  trust  him  still." 

He  was  carried  up  the  steps  and  stairs  to  his  room,  fol- 
lowed by  all  eyes.  Ida  stole  to  Jennie  Burton,  and  kept 
near  her  as  she  sought  to  quietly  gain  her  room  by  a  side 
stairs. 

"You  are  faint,  Miss  Burton,"  she  said  gently,  "lean  on 
me,"  and  Jennie  did  lean  on  her  more  and  more  heavily 
until  she  reached  her  room,  and  then  her  blue  eyes  closed, 
and  the  day  she  had  so  dreaded  was  over,  as  far  as  she  had 
consciousness  of  it.  So  slight  and  fragile  had  she  become 
that  even  Ida  was  able  to  carry  her  to  her  couch.  Her  swoon 
of  utter  exhaustion  was  long  and  deep,  and  when  she  rallied 
from  it  there  were  symptoms  which  led  the  physician  to  say 
that  she  must  have  absolute  quiet  and  sleep,  and  he  gave 
strong  opiates  to  ensure  the  latter.  Jennie  only  reached  out 
her  hand  for  Ida  and  whispered:  "Don't  leave  me,"  and 
then  passed  into  a  slumber  that  seemed  like  death. 

With  her  old  imperious  manner  Ida  silenced  all  who  en- 
tered the  room,  or  motioned  them  out  if  they  had  no  busi- 
ness there. 

Stanton  whispered:  "You  know  I  will  be  within  call  any 
moment."  But  Ida's  reply  was:  "If  you  love  her,  if  you 
care  for  me,  don't  leave  him;  make  him  live."  Thus,  in 
restoring  rest  and  patient  vigils  the  night  wore  away.  The 
physician  found  that  while  Van  Berg's  leg  was  much  bruised 
and  wrenched,  it  had  received  no  permanent  injury;  and  in 
regard  to  Miss  Burton  he  said:  "If  she  wakes  quiet  and 
sane,  all  danger  will  be  past,  I  think." 

His  hopes  were  fulfilled.  With  the  dawn  her  deep  stu- 
por passed  into  a  light  and  broken  slumber,  in  which  she 
tossed,  and  moaned,  and  whispered,  as  if  the  light  of 
thought  were  also  streaming  into  her  darkened  mind.  At 
last  she  opened   her  eyes  and   looked  at  Ida,  who  smiled 


494  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

reassuringly.     In  a  few  moments  the  events  of  the  past  day 
came  back  to  her,  and  she  started  up  and  asked  earnestly: 

"Mr.  Van  Berg — is  he  safe?" 

Ida  stooped  down  and  kissed  her  as  she  replied:  "Mr. 
Van  Berg  is  rallying  fast,  and  is  out  of  all  danger." 

Jennie  leaned  back  among  her  pillows  with  a  smile  of 
deep  content,  and  closed  her  eyes.  When  she  opened  them 
again  Ida  had  gone,  and  Mrs.  Burleigh  had  taken  her  place 
as  watcher. 

But  the  need  of  such  care  passed  speedily.  The  doctor, 
after  his  morning  call,  said  that  the  critical  moment  of  dan- 
ger had  gone  by.  So  it  had,  but  his  understanding  of 
Jennie's  case  was  superficial  indeed,  and  he  ascribed  to  his 
opiate  a  virtue  that  it  had  never  possessed.  The  balm  that 
had  soothed  her  wounded  spirit  was  the  thought  of  saved 
life  and  the  happiness  that  might  result  to  those  in  whom 
she  was  deeply  interested.  The  dreaded  anniversary  had 
passed,  and  she  was  profoundly  grateful  that  it  had  ended 
in  physical  exhaustion  rather  than  in  vain  and  agonized  re- 
gret. She  readily  obeyed  the  physician's  injunction  to  keep 
very  quiet  for  two  or  three  days,  for  memor}'  during  the  past 
few  weeks  had  caused  a  fever  of  mind  that  was  scarcely  less 
wearing  than  would  have  been  the  disease  against  which  rest 
was  the  best  safeguard.  The  condition  in  which  she  found 
Van  Berg  suggested  some  light  on  the  dark  problem  of  her 
life,  but  she  only  sighed  deeply:  "I  shall  never  know  in 
this  world  why  he  does  not  come." 

When  told  how  Ida  had  taken  care  of  her  and  watched 
till  all  danger  was  passed,  she  murmured  to  herself, 4l  Brave, 
noble  Ida  Mayhew !  but  I  may  be  able  to  reward  her  yet." 
She  needed  very  little  care,  and  felt  no  surprise  that  Ida 
now  permitted  others  to  render  these  attentions,  contenting 
herself  with  brief  but  gentle  inquiries  concerning  her  wel- 
fare. Jennie  only  took  pains  to  learn  that  Ida  would  not 
leave  the  Lake  House  till  Monday  of  the  following  week, 
and  then  rested  and  waited.  She  was  not  sure  of  Van  Berg, 
and  until  she  was  she  would  shield  Ida  as  herself.     But  if 


LIFE    AND    TRUST  495 

it  were  true,  as  she  surmised,  that  Van  Berg  imagined  that 
honor  and  loyalty  bound  him  to  her,  while  his  heart  was 
disposed  to  reward  the  maiden  who  had  given  him  hers,  she 
hoped  that  a  little  wise  diplomacy  on  her  part  might  do  no 
harm.  She  very  justly  feared  that  Van  Berg's  gratitude  to  her- 
self would  be  so  strong  that  he  would  consider  nothing  else, 
and  she  also  feared  that  in  order  to  accomplish  her  kind  inten- 
tions toward  them,  it  might  become  necessary  for  her  to  tell 
him  the  sad  story  of  her  life — a  story  which  she  had  never 
yet  put  in  words.  Therefore  she  sought  to  obtain  the 
strength  and  tranquillity  of  mind  which  this  effort  might 
tax  to  the  utmost.  She  also  imagined  that  if  she  could  only 
see  Ida  and  Van  Berg  together  a  few  times,  her  course 
would  be  clearer. 

Van  Berg's  vital  forces  had  not  been  drained  by  weeks 
of  mental  distress,  and  he  rallied  rapidly.  Stanton  took 
care  of  him  with  a  sort  of  grim  faithfulness  which  his  friend 
appreciated,  but  neither  of  them  made  any  reference  to  the 
subjects  uppermost  in  their  minds.  On  the  afternoon  of 
the  day  following  his  rescue,  he  was  able  to  use  crutches, 
and  seated  in  his  armchair  was  carried  down  to  the  hotel 
parlor.  The  guests  thronged  around  him  with  congratula- 
tions, and  Ida  came  forward  promptly  with  the  others,  but 
her  manner  was  the  most  undemonstrative  and  quiet  of  any 
who  spoke  to  him.  His  earnest  look  and  the  pressure  of 
his  hand  meant  so  much  to  her,  however,  that  she  soon 
retreated  to  the  solitude  of  her  room,  and  her  smile  was 
almost  glad  as  she  murmured: 

"Oh,  how  much  better  it  is  to  just  take  God  at  his  word 
and  do  right!  If  I  had  yielded  to  my  strong  temptation  I 
would  not  have  won  him,  for  now  he  is  bound  to  Miss  Bur- 
ton by  every  motive.  But  by  doing  right  1  have  kept  his 
respect.  Thank  God  for  the  glance  I  have  just  received,  for 
it  is  worth  far  more  than  any  expressions  of  dishonorable 
passion.     My  conscience  is  light,  if  my  heart  is  heavy!" 

In  the  quiet  and  friendly  courtesy  that  Van  Berg  and 
Ida  maintained  toward  each  other,  a  casual  observer  would 


496  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

have  seen  nothing  to  excite  remark,  and  the  gossips  at  the 
house  believed  they  had  been  misled  by  the  facts  that  the 
artist  had  followed  Ida  to  the  city,  and  returned  with  her  as 
if  by  arrangement.  They  now  all  agreed  that  he  could  not 
do  less  than  bestow  himself  as  a  reward  upon  the  "pretty 
little  school  ma'am,"  as  some  of  the  tattling  genus  persisted 
in  calling  Miss  Burton.  Mr.  Mayhew  had  written  that  un- 
expected business  complications  had  arisen  which  required 
his  whole  attention,  and  as  he  was  acting  in  trust  for  others 
he  could  not  give  his  time  just  then  to  making  the  change 
that  Ida  had  wished,  but  that  he  would  arrange  matters  so 
he  could  enter  on  his  vacation  the  following  week,  and  then 
would  take  Ida  wherever  she  wished  to  go.  He  wrote  daily, 
and  his  letters  were  sources  of  double  cheer  to  Ida,  for  she 
read  between  the  lines  her  father's  deep  sympathy  and  in 
the  lines  found  increasing  proof  that  he  was  a  changed  man. 

Now  that  events  had  taken  their  strange  and  unexpected 
turn,  she  was  not  sorry  to  remain.  She  had  no  belief  that 
change  of  place  would  make  any  difference  in  her  feelings, 
and  she  found  that  her  heart  clung  strongly  to  the  scenes 
with  which  were  associated  her  recent  deep  experiences. 
There  was  nothing  in  Van  Berg's  manner  now  that  made 
it  embarrassing  for  her  to  meet  him.  While  in  his  honest 
effort  to  keep  his  pledges,  she  saw  that  he  apparently  gave 
the  most  of  his  thoughts  to  Miss  Burton,  and  daily  had  con- 
veyed to  her  room  the  rarest  flowers  and  fruits  he  could  ob- 
tain, sending  to  the  city  for  them  as  well  as  having  the 
country  scoured  for  its  choicest  treasures,  she  also  occa- 
sionally caught  a  glimpse  of  the  truth  that  he  honored  and 
reverenced  her  from  the  depths  of  his  heart.  Although  in 
her  sincere  diffidence  she  did  not  regard  herself  as  worthy 
of  such  esteem,  still  the  poor  girl,  who  had  been  so  deeply 
humiliated  and  discouraged,  was  comforted  and  sustained 
by  his  strong  and  silent  homage.  She  would  also  be  very 
sorry  to  forego  her  daily  visits  to  Mr.  Eltinge. 

As  Thursday  was  warm,  Van  Berg  spent  the  greater  part 
of  it  on  the  cool  piazza,  for  he  was  now  able  to  move  about 


LIFE    A1SID    TRUST  497 

on  crutches  very  well.  He  had  no  lack  of  company,  but  all 
found  him  reticent  concerning  his  accident  and  the  causes 
which  had  led  to  it.  The  most  persistent  gossip  in  the  house 
learned  no  more  than  the  bare  facts,  and  was  inclined  to 
believe  there  was  nothing  more  to  learn.  That  Stanton 
was  so  distant  was  explained  by  the  fact  that  he  was  an 
unsuccessful  rival.  Both  Van  Berg  and  Ida  puzzled  Stan- 
ton as  far  as  he  gave  them  thought,  but  in  his  honest  loyalty 
his  heart  was  in  the  darkened  room  in  which  poor  Jennie 
was  resting,  more  from  her  long  passionate  struggle  with  a 
sorrow  she  could  not  bury  than  from  the  exhaustion  caused 
by  her  rescue  of  Van  Berg. 

Friday  morning  happened  to  be  very  warm,  and  Ida  did 
not  visit  Mr.  Eltinge,  but  ensconced  herself  in  a  distant  cor- 
ner of  the  piazza  with  a  book,  the  pages  of  which  were  not 
turned  very  regularly.  "I  wonder,"  she  thought,  "when, 
if  ever,  we  shall  have  another  friendly  taik.  What  a  strange, 
deep  hush,  as  it  were,  has  come  after  the  passionate  joy  and 
desperate  sorrow  and  fear  of  the  past  week!  It  is  the  type 
of  what  my  inner  life  will  be.  But  I  must  not  complain; 
thousands  of  hearts,  no  doubt,  are  the  burial-places  of  as 
dear  a  hope  as  mine ;  and  One  is  pledged  to  give  me  back 
my  life  in  some  way,  and  at  some  time. ' ' 

"Miss  Ida,"  said  a  voice  that  made  her  start  and  crimson 
in  spite  of  herself,  "may  I  come  out  and  talk  with  you  a  lit- 
tle while?"  and  she  saw  that  Van  Berg  was  speaking  to  her 
through  the  window  blinds  of  one  of  the  private  parlors. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "if  you  think  it  is  best." 

He  went  around  and  came  openly  to  her  side,  bringing  a 
small  camp-chair  with  him.  As  he  steadied  himself  against 
a  piazza  column  in  taking  his  seat,  and  leaned  his  crutches 
on  the  railing,  her  looks  were  very  sympathetic.  With  a 
smile  he  took  one  of  his  crutches  in  his  hands  as  he  said: 

"I  have  come  to  these  very  properly  at  last,  and  you 
must  have  seen  their  significance.  It  is  my  spiritual  and 
moral  lameness,  however,  that  now  troubles  me  most,  Miss 
May  hew.     When  lying  at  the  bottom  of  that  ravine,  expect- 


498  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

ing  death,  I  vowed,  like  most  sinners  in  similar  circum- 
stances, I  suppose,  that  if  I  ever  escaped  I  would  become 
a  Christian  man.  I  intend  to  keep  the  vow  if  it  is  a  possi- 
ble thing.  But  I  make  no  progress.  I  prayed  then,  and 
I  have  prayed  and  read  my  Bible  since,  but  everything  is 
forced  and  formal,  and  the  thought  will  come  to  me  contin- 
ually, that  I  might  as  well  pray  to  Socrates  or  Plato  as  to 
Christ.     I  wish  you  could  teach  me  your  faith." 

4 'Mr.  Van  Berg,"  replied  Ida,  with  a  troubled  face,  4Tm 
not  wise  enough  to  guide  you  in  such  a  matter.  I  would 
much  rather  you  would  talk  with  Mr.  Eltinge  or  some 
learned,  good  man." 

4lI  shall  be  glad  to  see  Mr.  Eltinge,  but  I  don't  care  to 
go  to  the  learned  man  just  yet.  We  might  get  into  an  ar- 
gument, in  which  of  course  I  should  be  worsted,  but  I  fear 
not  convinced.  I  have  never  known  anything  so  real  as 
your  faith  has  seemed,  but  I  can  obtain  nothing  that  in  the 
least  corresponds  with  it.  I  ask,  but  receive  no  more  re- 
sponse than  if  I  spoke  to  the  empty  air.  Then  comes  the 
strong  temptation  to  relapse  into  the  old  materialistic  phi- 
losophy, which  I  had  practically  accepted,  and  to  believe 
that  religious  experiences  are  imaginary,  or  the  result  of 
education  and  temperament.  At  the  same  time  I  have 
found  this  philosophy  such  a  wretched  support,  either  in 
life  or  in  the  prospect  of  death,  that  I  would  be  glad  to 
throw  it  away  as  worthless. 

44I  fear  to  speak  to  you  on  this  subject,"  she  said,  44and 
shall  not  for  a  moment  attempt  to  teach  you  anything. 
They  say  facts  are  stubborn  things,  and  I'll  tell  you  a  few, 
which  to  my  simple,  homely  common-sense  are  conclusive. 
To  a  man's  reason  they  may  count  for  little.  My  religious 
experiences  are  not  the  result  of  education  or  temperament, 
but  are  contrary  to  both;  and  if  they  are  imaginary,  all  my 
experiences  are  imaginary.  Perhaps  I  can  best  tell  you 
what  I  mean  by  an  illustration  that  is  a  pleasant  one  to 
me.  There  is  a  partially  finished  picture  in  your  studio 
that  I  hope  to  hang  some  day  in  my  own  sanctum  at  home. 


LIFE   AND    TRUST  499 

How  shall  I  ever  know  that  I  have  that  picture  ?  How 
shall  I  ever  know  that  you  have  given  it  to  me  ?  I  shall 
know  it  because  you  keep  your  promise  and  send  it  to  me. 
I  shall  have  it  in  my  possession,  and  I  shall  enjoy  it  daily. 
Are  not  hope,  patience,  peace,  when  the  world  could  give 
no  peace,  as  real  as  your  picture  ?  Is  not  the  honest  pur- 
pose to  overcome  a  nature  that  you  know  is  so  very  faulty 
as  real  a  gift  as  any  I  could  receive  ?  If  the  Friend  I  have 
found  promises  me  such  things,  and  at  once  begins  to  keep 
his  word,  why  should  1  not  trust  him  ?  But  remember,  you 
must  not  expect  from  me  very  much  at  first,  any  more  than 
did  Mr.  Eltinge  from  the  little  pear-tree  he  lifted  up  and 
gave  a  chance  to  live.  Now,  with  one  more  thought,  my 
small  cup  of  theology  is  emptied.  To  go  back  to  my  illus- 
tration: Suppose  some  person  should  say  that  he  had  not  a 
picture  of  Mr.  Eltinge;  that  would  be  no  proof  that  I  did 
not  have  one,  or  that  you  had  not  given  one  to  me.  I  don't 
see,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  that  the  fact  that  you  have  no  faith  this 
morning  is  anything  against  the  fact  that  I  and  Mr.  Eltinge, 
and  so  many  others,  do  have  faith,  with  good  reasons  for  it, 
and  are  able  to  say,  4I  knoiv  that  my  Kedeemer  liveth. '  The 
testimony  of  other  people  counts  for  something  in  most  mat- 
ters. Why  must  such  men  as  Mr.  Eltinge  be  set  down  either 
as  deceivers  or  deceived,  when  they  state  some  of  the  most 
certain  facts  of  their  experience?" 

"I  knew  you  were  the  right  one  to  come  to,"  he  said, 
looking  at  her  so  earnestly  that  her  eyes  fell  before  his; 
"but  why  is  it,  do  you  think,  that  I  receive  no  an- 
swer?" 

uAs  I  told  you,  my  little  cup  of  knowledge  is  empty, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  in  your  happy,  wonderful  rescue 
you  were  answered.  You  have  promised  to  become  a 
Christian,  Mr.  Van  Berg.  You  certainly  did  not  limit 
your  effort  to  this  week.  Surely  to  be  a  Christian  is  worth 
a  lifetime  of  effort. " 

'•I  understand  you  again,"  he  said  with  a  smile;  "you 
leave  me  no  other  choice  than  to  make  a  lifetime  of  effort 


600  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

But  I  fear  it  will  be  awfully  uphill  work.  The  Bible  seems 
to  me  an  old-world  book.  Many  parts  take  a  strong  hold  on 
my  imagination,  and  of  course  I  know  its  surpassing  liter- 
ary merit;  but  I  don't  find  in  it  much  that  seems  person- 
ally applicable  or  helpful.  Do  you?  I  admit,  though, 
that  when  I  read  words  this  morning  to  the  effect  that  4a 
brutish  man  knoweth  not,  neither  doth  a*fool  understand,' 
I  felt  that  the  good  old  saint  must  have  had  his  prophetic 
eye  on  me  at  the  time  of  writing. " 

' '  You  are  as  unjust  toward  yourself  as  ever,  I  see, ' '  she 
said.  "I  have  found  another  Psalm  that  to  me  meant  so 
much  that  I  have  committed  the  first  part  of  it  to  memory. 
You  can  understand  why  the  following  words  are  signifi- 
cant," and  in  the  plaintive  tones  that  had  vibrated  so 
deeply  in  his  heart  when  she  read  to  Mr.  Eltinge,  she 
repeated: 

"I  love  the  Lord  because  he  hath  heard  my  voice  and 
my  supplication, 

"Because  he  hath  inclined  his  ear  unto  me,  therefore 
will  I  call  upon  him  as  long  as  I  live. 

"The  sorrows  of  death  compassed  me,  and  the  pains  of 
hell  got  hold  upon  me:  I  found  trouble  and  sorrow. 

"Then  called  I  upon  the  name  of  the  Lord;  O  Lord,  I 
beseech  thee,  deliver  my  soul. 

"The  Lord  preserveth  the  simple:  I  was  brought  low 
and  he  helped  me. 

"Eeturn  unto  thy  rest,  0  my  soul;  for  the  Lord  hath 
dealt  bountifully  with  thee. 

"For  thou  hast  delivered  my  soul  from  death,  mine  eyes 
from  tears,  and  my  feet  from  falling. 

"And  this  is  my  conclusion,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  'I  will  walk 
before  the  Lord  in  the  land  of  the  living.'  I  am  going  to 
find  plenty  of  good,  live,  wholesome  work  to  do  'in  the 
land  of  the  living,'  and  I  intend  to.  do  it  as  if  I  enjoyed  it; 
indeed,  I  think  I  shall  enjoy  it,"  and  she  rose  and  left  him 
with  a  genial  and  cheery  smile. 

But  he  sat  still  and  thought  long  and  deeply.     At  last 


LIFE   AND    TRUST  501 

he  muttered  in  conclusion:  "  'By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know 
them.'  Once  more,  God  bless  Ida  May  hew  for  all  she  has 
been  to  me!" 

When  they  were  gathered  at  dinner,  Jennie  Burton 
walked  in  and  took  her  seat  in  the  most  quiet  and  matter- 
of-course  way  possible. 

Van  Berg  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork  and  exclaimed: 
"You  have  stolen  a  march  on  us.  We  designed  giving  you 
an  ovation  when  you  came  down." 

4 'Will  you  please  pass  me  the  bread  in  its  place,  Mr. 
Van  Berg?'  she  replied  in  her  former  piquant,  mirthful 
way.  "With  the  appetite  that  is  coming  back  to  me,  one 
of  Mr.  Burleigh's  good  dinners  is  far  more  to  my  taste  than 
an  ovation  which  I  now  decline  with  thanks." 

Very  pale  and  slight  she  certainly  had  become,  but  they 
saw  that  her  old  cheery,  indomitable  spirit  once  more  looked 
out  of  her  blue  eyes  and  vibrated  in  the  tones  of  her  voice. 
With  the  changes  indicated,  she  was  the  same  bright  little 
"enigma  in  brown"  that  had  so  fascinated  Van  Berg  the 
first  day  of  her  arrival,  and  led  him  to  make  the  half-jest- 
mg  prediction  to  Stanton  that  had  been  so  thoroughly  ful 
filled.  In  spite  of  themselves,  her  irresistible  grace,  wit, 
and  humor  created  continuous  and  irrepressible  merriment 
at  their  table,  which  Ida  seconded  with  a  tact  and  piquancy 
but  little  inferior  to  that  of  Miss  Burton  herself.  Straight- 
forward and  rather  slow-witted  Stanton  rubbed  his  eyes  and 
vowed  between  the  first  hearty  laughs  he  had  known  for 
many  a  long  day  that  he  was  practiced  upon,  and  that  he 
intended  to  have  Miss  Burton  indicted  as  a  witch,  and  Ida 
as  an  accomplice. 

But  Jennie  Burton  could  not  escape  the  ovation,  for  she 
had  won  a  secure  and  large  place  in  the  esteem,  and,  in  many 
instances,  in  the  affections  of  her  summer  associates.  After 
dinner,  no  matter  which  way  she  turned,  hands  were  ex- 
tended and  hearty  words  spoken,  and  while  at  dinner  even 
the  colored  waiters  grinned  approvingly  whenever  she  looked 
toward  them.     Mr.  Burleigh  finally  brought  the  congratula- 


600  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

But  I  fear  it  will  be  awfully  uphill  work.  The  Bible  seems 
to  me  an  old-world  book.  Many  parts  take  a  strong  hoJd  on 
my  imagination,  and  of  course  I  know  its  surpassing  liter- 
ary merit;  but  I  don't  find  in  it  much  that  seems  person- 
ally applicable  or  helpful.  Do  you?  I  admit,  though, 
that  when  I  read  words  this  morning  to  the  effect  that  4a 
brutish  man  knoweth  not,  neither  doth  a*fool  understand,' 
I  felt  that  the  good  old  saint  must  have  had  his  prophetic 
eye  on  me  at  the  time  of  writing. " 

"You  are  as  unjust  toward  yourself  as  ever,  I  see,"  she 
said.  "I  have  found  another  Psalm  that  to  me  meant  so 
much  that  I  have  committed  the  first  part  of  it  to  memory. 
You  can  understand  why  the  following  words  are  signifi- 
cant," and  in  the  plaintive  tones  that  had  vibrated  so 
deeply  in  his  heart  when  she  read  to  Mr.  Eltinge,  she 
repeated: 

"I  love  the  Lord  because  he  hath  heard  my  voice  and 
my  supplication. 

"Because  he  hath  inclined  his  ear  unto  me,  therefore 
will  I  call  upon  him  as  long  as  I  live. 

"The  sorrows  of  death  compassed  me,  and  the  pains  of 
hell  got  hold  upon  me:  I  found  trouble  and  sorrow. 

"Then  called  I  upon  the  name  of  the  Lord;  O  Lord,  I 
beseech  thee,  deliver  my  soul. 

"The  Lord  preserveth  the  simple:  I  was  brought  low 
and  he  helped  me. 

"Keturn  unto  thy  rest,  0  my  soul;  for  the  Lord  hath 
dealt  bountifully  with  thee. 

"For  thou  hast  delivered  my  soul  from  death,  mine  eyes 
from  tears,  and  my  feet  from  falling. 

"And  this  is  my  conclusion,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  'I  will  walk 
before  the  Lord  in  the  land  of  the  living.'  I  am  going  to 
find  plenty  of  good,  live,  wholesome  work  to  do  4in  the 
land  of  the  living,'  and  I  intend  to  do  it  as  if  I  enjoyed  it; 
indeed,  I  think  I  shall  enjoy  it,"  and  she  rose  and  left  him 
with  a  genial  and  cheery  smile. 

But  he  sat  still  and  thought  long  and  deeply.     At  last 


LIFE   AND    TRUST  501 

he  muttered  in  conclusion:  "  'By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know 
them.'  Once  more,  God  bless  Ida  May  hew  for  all  she  has 
been  to  me!" 

When  they  were  gathered  at  dinner,  Jennie  Burton 
walked  in  and  took  her  seat  in  the  most  quiet  and  matter- 
of-course  way  possible. 

Van  Berg  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork  and  exclaimed: 
"You  have  stolen  a  march  on  us.  We  designed  giving  you 
an  ovation  when  you  came  down." 

"Will  you  please  pass  me  the  bread  in  its  place,  Mr. 
Van  Berg?'  she  replied  in  her  former  piquant,  mirthful 
way.  "With  the  appetite  that  is  coming  back  to  me,  one 
of  Mr.  Burleigh's  good  dinners  is  far  more  to  my  taste  than 
an  ovation  which  I  now  decline  with  thanks." 

Very  pale  and  slight  she  certainly  had  become,  but  they 
saw  that  her  old  cheery,  indomitable  spirit  once  more  looked 
out  of  her  blue  eyes  and  vibrated  in  the  tones  of  her  voice. 
With  the  changes  indicated,  she  was  the  same  bright  little 
"enigma  in  brown"  that  had  so  fascinated  Van  Berg  the 
first  day  of  her  arrival,  and  led  him  to  make  the  half-jest* 
ing  prediction  to  Stanton  that  had  been  so  thoroughly  ful 
filled.  In  spite  of  themselves,  her  irresistible  grace,  wit, 
and  humor  created  continuous  and  irrepressible  merriment 
at  their  table,  which  Ida  seconded  with  a  tact  and  piquancy 
but  little  inferior  to  that  of  Miss  Burton  herself.  Straight- 
forward and  rather  slow-witted  Stanton  rubbed  his  eyes  and 
vowed  between  the  first  hearty  laughs  he  had  known  for 
many  a  long  day  that  he  was  practiced  upon,  and  that  he 
intended  to  have  Miss  Burton  indicted  as  a  witch,  and  Ida 
as  an  accomplice. 

But  Jennie  Burton  could  not  escape  the  ovation,  for  she 
had  won  a  secure  and  large  place  in  the  esteem,  and,  in  many 
instances,  in  the  affections  of  her  summer  associates.  After 
dinner,  no  matter  which  way  she  turned,  hands  were  ex- 
tended and  hearty  words  spoken,  and  while  at  dinner  even 
the  colored  waiters  grinned  approvingly  whenever  she  looked 
toward  them.     Mr.  Burleigh  finally  brought  the  congratula- 


50 i  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

ing  as  sweet  and  beneficent  a  life  as  God  ever  gave.  I  have 
suspected  that  you  had  some  unselfish  guile  in  that  last 
promise  you  obtained  from  me,  but  I  shall  be  loyal  to  the 
promise  I  intended  to  make,  and  which  was  in  my  mind;  I 
shall  be  loyal  to  the  promise  1  made  you  at  first,  to  win 
you  if  I  could,  and  I  shall  wait  till  I  can." 

"What,  then,  will  Ida  May  hew  do?"  she  asked,  looking 
him  full  in  the  face. 

He  colored  still  more  deeply,  but  meeting  her  searching 
gaze  without  blenching,  he  said,  firmly  and  quietly:  "She 
will  always  do  what  is  right  and  noble,  God  bless  her!" 

Miss  Burton  appeared  a  little  perplexed  and  troubled  for 
a  moment,  and  then  said,  slowly:  4lI  called  you  my  friend 
last  July,  and  when  I  speak  in  the  mood  I  was  in  then  I 
mean  all  that  I  say.  Friends  should  be  very  frank  when 
the  occasion  requires,  or  else  they  are  but  acquaintances. 
I  am  going  to  be  very  frank  with  you  to-day,  and  if  I  err, 
charge  it  to  friendship  only.  Ida  Mayhew  loves  you,  Mr. 
Van  Berg;  she  has  loved  you  almost  from  the  first;  and 
now  that  her  life  has  become  so  noble  and  beautiful,  I  am 
greatly  mistaken  if  you  do  not  return  her  affection.  If  this 
be  true,  what  are  you  offering  me  ?" 

"I  have  given  you,  Miss  Burton,  my  truth  and  loyalty 
for  all  coming  time.  You  may  decline  them  now — you 
probably  will — but  you  cannot  change  my  attitude  toward 
you  or  alter  my  course.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  hide  any- 
thing from  you.  Indeed,  to  do  so  would  be  vain,  and  I 
have  never  been  intentionally  insincere  with  you. "  Then 
he  told  her  of  the  freak  of  fancy  that  had  led  him  to  follow 
Ida  to  the  country  in  the  first  instance,  and  much  that  fol- 
lowed since,  making  no  reference,  however,  to  her  dark 
purpose  against  herself.  In  conclusion  he  said:  tlOf  late, 
for  reasons  obvious  to  you,  she  has  had  strong  fascinations 
for  me,  but  above  and  beyond  these  has  been  her  influence 
on  the  side  of  all  that's  right,  manly,  and  true.  I  have 
never  spoken  of  love  to  Miss  Mayhew.  Honor,  loyalty, 
unbounded  gratitude,  and  deep  affection  bind  me  to  you, 


LIFE   AND    TRUST  505 

and  shall  through  life.     Please  say  no  more,  Miss  Jennie,  for 
if  any  question  was  ever  settled,  this  is." 

"Then  you  propose  to  sacrifice  yourself  and  Miss  May 
hew  for  the  shadowy  chance  of  making  me  a  little  happier?" 

''/shall  not  be  sacrificed,  and  Ida  Mayhew  would  justly 
reject  me  with  scorn  were  I  disloyal  to  you.  I  can  give  you 
more  love,  Jennie  Burton,  than  I  fear  you  will  ever  give  to 
me,  but  I  shall  wait  patiently.  When  months  and  years 
have  proved  to  you  the  truth  of  my  words,  you  may  feel 
differently.     Let  us  leave  the  subject  till  then." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  after  all," 
she  said,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands* 

"You  need  not  now,"  he  replied  gently.  "You  have 
been  ill  and  are  not  strong  enough  for  this  agitation.  You 
never  need  tell  me  unless  it  will  make  your  burden 
lighter. ' ' 

"It  will  make  my  burden  lighter  to-day,"  she  said  hur- 
riedly. "Pardon  me  if  I  tell  my  story  in  the  briefest  and 
most  prosaic  way.  You  are  the  first  one  that  has  heard  it 
It  may  not  seem  much  to  you  and  others;  but  to  me  it  is 
an  awful  tragedy,  and  I  sometimes  fear  my  life  may  be  an 
enternal  condition  of  suspense  and  waiting.  You  have  been 
very  generous  in  taking  me  so  fully  on  trust,  but  now  you 
shall  know  ail.  I  am  the  only  daughter  of  a  poor,  un- 
worldly New  England  clergyman.  My  mother  died  before 
I  can  remember,  and  my  father  gave  to  me  all  the  time  he 
could  spare  from  the  duties  of  a  small  village  parish.  He 
and  the  beautiful  region  in  which  we  lived  were  my  only 
teachers.  One  June  morning  Harrold  Fleetwood  came  to 
the  parsonage  with  letters  of  introduction,  saying  that  his 
physician  had  banished  him  from  books  and  city  life,  and 
he  asked  if  he  could  be  taken  as  a  lodger  for  a  few  weeks. 
Poor  and  unworldly  as  father  was,  for  my  sake  he  made 
careful  inquiries  and  learned  that  the  young  man  was  from 
one  of  the  best  and  wealthiest  families  of  Boston,  and  bore 
an  unblemished  reputation.  Then,  since  we  were  so  very 
poor,  he  yielded  to  Mr,  Fleetwood's  wishes,  hoping  thus  to 

22— Roe— XII 


506  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

be  able  to  buy  some  books,  he  said,  on  which  our  minds 
could  live  during  the  coming  winter. 

4  To  me,  Harrold  Fleetwood  was  a  very  remarkable  char- 
acter. While  he  always  treated  me  with  kindness  and  re- 
spect, he  did  not  take  much  notice  of  me  at  first;  and  I  think 
he  found  me  very  diffident,  to  say  the  least.  But,  as  he  had 
overtaxed  his  eyes,  I  began  to  read  to  him ;  and  then,  as  we 
became  better  acquainted,  he  resumed  a  habit  he  had,  as 
I  soon  learned,  of  speaking  in  half-soliloquy  concerning  the 
subjects  that  occupied  his  mind.  He  said  that  an  invalid 
sister  had  indulged  him  in  this  habit,  and  he  had  tried  to 
think  aloud  partly  to  beguile  her  weariness.  But  to  me  it 
was  the  revelation  of  the  richest  and  most  versatile  mind 
I  have  ever  known.  At  last  I  ventured  to  show  my  interest 
and  to  ask  some  questions,  and  then  he  gradually  became 
interested  in  me  for  some  reason." 

"I  can  understand  his  reasons,"  said  Van  Berg  emphati- 
cally. 

44  He  did  not  know  at  first  how  much  time  father  had 
given  me  and  to  what  good  uses  we  had  put  the  books  we 
had.  Well,  I  must  be  brief.  Every  day  brought  us  nearer 
together,  until  it  seemed  that  we  shared  our  thoughts  in 
common.  I  ought  not  to  complain,  for  perhaps  in  few  long 
lives  does  there  come  more  happiness  than  was  crowded  in 
those  few  weeks.  It  was  the  happiness  of  heaven— it  was 
the  happiness  of  two  souls  attuned  to  perfect  harmony  and 
ranging  together  the  richest  fields  of  truth  and  fancy. 
Dear  old  father  was  blind  to  it  all,  and  I  had  scarcely 
thought  whither  the  shining  tide  was  carrying  me  until  last 
Tuesday  five  years  ago,  Mr.  Fleetwood  said  to  me:  'Jennie, 
our  souls  were  mated  in  heaven,  if  any  ever  were,  and  I 
claim  you  as  the  fulfilment  of  what  must  have  been 
a  Divine  purpose.'  I  found  that  my  heart  echoed  every 
word  he  said. 

14  Then  he  appeared  troubled  and  said  that  I  must  give 
him  time  to  untangle  a  snarl  into  which  he  had  drifted 
rather  than  involved  himself.    His  family  were  wealthy  and 


LIFE   AND    TRUST  507 

ambitious,  and  they  had  always  spoken  of  his  marriage  with 
a  cousin  who  was  an  heiress,  as  a  settled  thing.  He  had 
never  bound  himself  by  word  or  act,  and  often  laughingly 
told  his  parents  that  they  could  not  arrange  these  matters 
on  strictly  business  principles,  as  did  aristocrats  abroad — 
that  the  young  lady  herself  might  have  something  to  say,  if 
he  had  not.  But  he  was  wrapped  up  in  his  studies — he  was 
preparing  for  a  literary  life — and  events  drifted  on  until  he 
found  that  every  one  of  his  household  had  set  their  hearts 
on  this  alliance.  All  that  he  could  say  against  it  was  that 
he  was  indifferent.  The  lady  was  pretty  and  tried  to  make 
herself  agreeable  to  him;  while  he  felt  that  they  had  little 
in  common,  and  was  also  led  to  believe  that  she  would  good- 
naturedly  leave  him  to  his  own  pursuits,  and  so  he  entered 
no  protest  to  the  family  schemes,  but  drifted.  That  was  the 
one  defect  of  his  character.  He  was  a  man  of  thought  and 
fancy  rather  than  of  decision  and  action. 

"When  he  returned  home  and  told  his  parents  of  his  at- 
tachment for  me,  they  were  furious,  and  wrote  very  bitter 
letters  to  both  father  and  myself,  accusing  us  of  having  in- 
trigued to  obtain  a  wealthy  alliance.  Thank  God!  father 
never  saw  the  letter,  as  he  died  suddenly,  before  he  knew 
how  sore  a  wound  1  had  received.  Nor  did  I  ever  show  the 
letter  to  Mr.  Fleetwood,  for  my  father  had  trained  me  too 
well  to  sow  dissension  between  parents  and  son. 

"An  aunt  took  me  to  her  home.  She  was  a  kind-hearted 
old  lady,  but  very  matter-of-fact  and  wholly  engrossed  in 
her  housekeeping,  and  I  told  her  nothing.  1  waited  till 
Mr.  Fleetwood  sought  me  out,  which  he  soon  did.  I  saw 
that  his  family  were  moving  heaven  and  earth  to  break 
off  his  engagement  with  me,  and  it  evidently  pained  him 
deeply  that  he  must  so  greatly  disappoint  his  parents.  But 
the  consideration  that  weighed  most  with  him  was  this: 
they  urged  upon  him  in  every  possible  way  that  hopes  had 
been  raised  in  the  heart  of  the  young  lady  herself,  and 
although  he  was  always  very  reticent  in  regard  to  her,  1 
think  she  seconded  the  family  scheme,   for   the  marriage 


508  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

would  have  joined  two  very  large  estates.  Although  my 
heart  often  stood  still  with  fear  while  he  apparently  wav- 
ered a  little,  I  can  honestly  say  I  left  him  free  to  make  his 
own  choice.  They  persecuted  and  urged  him  to  that  extent, 
and  so  confused  his  sense  of  right  and  wrong,  that,  in  order 
to  escape  from  his  dilemma,  he  managed  to  get  a  lieuten- 
ant's commission  in  the  army  in  spite  of  his  physician's 
protest,  and  before  his  family  realized  what  they  regarded 
as  an  immeasurable  disaster  he  was  in  the  Union  ranks  at 
the  front.  It  has  proved  an  immeasurable  disaster  to  me. 
"He  came  to  see  me  before  he  went  south,  and  told  me 
that  he  preferred  death  to  any  other  bride  than  myself.  In 
sad  foreboding  I  begged  him  to  give  me  up  rather  than 
go  into  that  awful  war  with  his  imperfect  health.  But  he 
went.  The  rest  of  my  story  is  soon  told.  Life  in  the  field 
seemed  to  brace  him  up  every  way.  He  wrote  me  that  he 
had  lived  hitherto  in  books  and  dreams,  and  that  contact 
with  strong,  forceful  men  was  just  what  he  needed.  He 
wrote  almost  daily,  and  I  lived  on  his  letters.  He  grew 
strong  and  heroic  in  his  exposure  to  danger  and  hardship, 
and  won  promotion  on  the  simple  ground  of  merit.  At 
last,  after  an  arduous  campaign,  he  was  slightly  wounded 
and  greatly  worn,  and  he  received  a  long  leave  of  absence 
after  the  troops  went  into  winter  quarters.  He  wrote  then 
that  he  was  coming  home  to  marry  me,  and  no  power  on 
earth  could  prevent  it  except  my  'own  little  self,'  as  he  ex- 
pressed it — oh !  I  can  repeat  all  those  letters  word  for  word. 
He  wrote  me  the  very  day  and  hour  on  which  he  would 
start,  and  I  have  waited  ever  since;  and  I  have  vowed  be- 
fore God  that  I  will  wait  till  he  comes."  And  she  bowed 
her  head  in  her  hands  and  trembled  violently  in  her  strong 
agitation;  but,  when  at  last  she  raised  her  head,  her  eyes 
were  tearless,  and  she  went  on  still  more  hurriedly.  ''I 
afterward  learned  from  a  brother  officer,  and  also  from  the 
papers,  that  he  left  his  regimental  headquarters  at  the  time 
he  said,  but  that  he  had  to  ride  through  a  region  infested 
with  guerillas,  and  that  is  absolutely  all  I  know.      I  am 


LIFE    AND    TRUST  °09 


8Ure  he  wrote  to  his  family  of  his  intentions  in  regard  to 
me    but  they  have  never  recognized  me  m  the  slightest 
way      The  young  lady  to  whom  they  would  have  married 
Mm  wore  mourning  a  year,  and  then  was  led  to  the  altar  by 
Mother  man.     But,  as  my  Harrold  said,  God  mated  our 
souls,  and  I  shall  wait  till  he  joins  our  lives.     Your  name 
startled  me  greatly  when  I  heard  it  last  June  for  the  first 
m     LTl  had  spoken  it  myself  to  one  who  has  seemingly 
vanished  but  is  ever  present  to  me,  and  while  you  do  no 
resemble  him  in  appearance  to  any  close  extent,  there ,« at 
times  something  in  your  expression  that  ,s  singularly jike 
his-  and  this  fact  must  explain  and  excuse  all  the  weak 
exhibitions  of  myself  this  summer.     And  now,  my  friend 
permit  me  to  say  that  your  rather  ardent  words  on  one  or 
£o  occasions  never  deceived  me  for  a  moment      Yonm* 
took  your  warm  sympathy  for  love.     I,  who  had  seen  and 
known  thelve  o/hLoIo  Fleetwood,  could  not  make  such 
a  mistake.     You  do  love  Ida  Mayhew,  and  she  is  worthy; 
and  in  no  possible  way  could  you  do  so  much  to  add  to  my 
happiness,  now  and  always,  as  by  aiding  that  beautiful  girl 
develop   her  new   and  beautiful  life.     Harold  Van  Berg,  I 
would  regard  it  as  an  insult  if  you  ever  spoke  to  me  of  love 
and   marriage  after  what  I  have  told  you  to-day      1  shaU 
always  value  your  friendship  very,  very  much,  for  I  am 
now  alone  in  the  world,  and  I  think  I  have  found  in  you 
a  friend  in  whom  1  can  trust  absolutely,  and  to  whom  I 
could  go  in  case  there  should  be  need.     Probably  there 
never  will  be,   for,   in  my  simple,   busy   life,   I  have    ew 
wants.      You  may  tell  Mr.  Stanton  what  you   think    best 
0£  my  story  after  I  am  gone.     I  regret  unspeakably  that 
he  should  think  of  me  as  he  does   for  I  have  learned  to 
respect  him  as  a  true,  noble-hearted  gentleman      It  is  one 
more  of  life's  strange  mysteries.     Mr.  Van  Berg,     she  said 
springing  up,  "you  have  made  to  me  one  pledge  that  you 
can   keep-on^  one.     You   have   promised   to   'make   me 
happy  in  my  own  way.'     Brave  Ida  Mayhew  caught  me  m 
her  arms  when  I  fainted  last  Tuesday,  and  she  watched 


510  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

at  my  side  till  morning.  Yes,  she  did;  the  noble,  generous 
girl !  But  I  promised  myself  the  pleasure  of  rewarding  her, 
if  possible.  Now,  if  you  wish  to  do  something  for  me  that 
demands  prompt,  heroic  action,  scramble  into  a  buggy  and 
let  one  of  Mr.  Burleigh's  men  drive  you  to  that  old  garden 
before  she  leaves  it.  She  found  her  new  spiritual  life  there, 
let  her  also  find  her  happy  earthly  life  in  the  same  loved 
place.  Not  a  word,  but  go  at  once  if  you  have  any  regard 
for  my  feelings  and  wishes.  As  1  have  told  my  story,  your 
sympathetic  face  has  been  more  eloquent  than  any  words, 
and  leaves  nothing  to  be  said.  I  refuse  to  see  you  or  speak 
to  you  again  till  you  have  fulfilled  the  only  promise  I  ever 
asked  or  wished  you  to  make,"  and  she  left  him  and  quickly 
disappeared. 

Ten  minutes  later  Van  Berg  was  being  driven  toward 
Mr.  Eltinge's  place,  at  a  speed  which  threatened,  in  case  of 
accident,  to  place  him  beyond  the  use  of  crutches.  As  he 
rode  along  in  front  of  the  house  he  saw  that  Ida's  old  horse 
and  low  phaeton  were  still  in  the  shade  of  the  trees;  there- 
fore, dismissing  his  driver,  he  hobbled  with  singular  alacrity 
across  the  lawn  and  suddenly  presented  himself  before  Mr. 
Eltinge  and  Ida,  much  to  the  surprise  of  the  latter,  who 
hastily  wiped  her  eyes  and  sought  to  hide  the  fact  that  her 
thoughts  had  not  been  very  cheerful. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "but  I  left  my  sketch-book  here 
some  days  since;  and  I  especially  wished  to  bid  Mr.  Eltinge 
good-by  and  to  thank  him  with  all  the  warmth  and  fulness 
that  can  be  put  into  words." 

Mr.  Eltinge  was  cordially  and  gravely  kind  in  his  recep- 
tion, but  Ida  kept  her  face  averted,  for  she  knew  that  the 
traces  of  grief  were  too  apparent. 

After  a  few  moments  Mr.  Eltinge  said:  "Since  this  is 
your  last  visit,  I  cannot  think  of  letting  either  of  you  go 
back  before  dinner,  and,  if  you  will  excuse  me  for  a  little 
time,  I  soon  can  see  that  our  simple  arrangements  are 
made.1' 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  indeed  to  remain,"  said  Van  Berg, 


LIFE   AND    TRUST  511 

so  promptly  that  Ida  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  surprise. 
She  was  still  more  surprised  when,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone, 
he  hobbled  to  the  rustic  seat  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

"Miss  Ida,"  he  said,  "you  have  always  given  me  such 
admirable  advice  that  I  come  to  you  again.  Miss  Burton 
refuses  me  absolutely  and  irrevocably,  and  in  language  that 
renders  it  impossible  for  me  ever  to  address  her  again  on 
the  subject.  You  thus  perceive  what  a  forlorn  object  is  be- 
fore you — a  rejected  man  and  a  cripple!" 

"Miss  Burton  refused  you!"  exclaimed  Ida  in  utter 
amazement.  "You  were  but  a  cold  wooer,  I  imagine," 
she  added  reproachfully,  and  she  rose  from  the  seat  and 
stood  aloof  from  him. 

"You  know  well,  Miss  Ida,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "that  a 
falsehood  would  be  impossible  in  this  place,  and  I  assure 
you  I  honestly  did  the  best  I  could.  We  have  plighted  our 
faith  in  a  friendship  that  will  be  a  brother's  love  on  my  part, 
but  she  said  solemnly  that  she  would  regard  offers  of  mar- 
riage from  me,  now  or  at  any  future  time,  as  an  insult. 
In  brief,  she  has  at  last  told  me  her  story.  Her  lover 
is  dead,  and  it  was  because  she  detected  certain  resem- 
blances in  my  appearance  to  him  that  she  looked  at  me 
sometimes  in  the  way  you  described.  I  had  surmised  as 
much  before,  but  at  one  time  hoped  that  this  accidental 
resemblance  might  give  me  a  vantage-ground  in  winning  her 
from  a  past  that  I  knew  must  have  been  very  sad  indeed. 
My  resemblance  was  only  an  outward  one,  the  man  himself 
was  immeasurably  my  superior,  and  on  the  principle  of  con- 
trast alone  Jennie  Burton  could  never  think  of  me.  But  her 
love  for  Harrold  Fleetwood  is  her  life.  It  is  a  strange,  un- 
earthly devotion  that  time  only  increases.  I  felt  weeks  since 
that  I  could  worship  her  as  a  saint  far  easier  than  I  could 
love  her  as  a  woman,  and  I  now  know  the  reason.  It  would 
indeed  be  an  insult  for  any  man  to  speak  to  her  of  love  and 
marriage,  if  he  knew  what  I  have  learned  to-day." 

"Then  poor  Cousin  Ik  has  no  chance  either,"  said  Ida, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes. 


512  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

"No,  I  do  not  think  he  has,  although  she  has  learned  to 
appreciate  him.  She  spoke  of  him  as  a  'true,  noble- hearted 
gentleman,'  and  such  terms  from  the  lips  of  a  woman  like 
Jennie  Burton  are  better  than  a  king's  title.  As  far  as  my 
complacent  and  deliberate  wooing  of  last  summer  is  con- 
cerned, I  believe  that  when  it  did  not  pain  and  annoy  her 
she  was  rather  amused  by  it.  She  had  seen  the  genuine 
thing,  you  know,  and  thus  I  was  the  only  one  imposed  upon 
by  a  sentiment  which  at  that  time  received  the  unqualified 
approval  of  my  infallible  reason  and  judgment.  The  very 
superior  Mr.  Harold  Van  Berg  once  declined  your  acquaint- 
ance, as  you  may  remember.  Take  your  full  revenge  upon 
him  now,  for  you  see  to  what  a  battered  and  dilapidated 
condition  of  body  and  mind  he  has  been  reduced.  He  has 
developed  a  genius  for  blundering  and  getting  himself  and 
other  people  into  trouble,  that  is  quite  sublime.  If  ever  a 
man  needed  daily  advice  and  counsel,  he  does,  and  the  in- 
calculable service  that  you  have  rendered  him  in  this  respect 
leads  him  to  come  to  you  again." 

''Indeed,  sir,"  said  Ida,  turning  away  with  a  crimson 
face,  "I  have  no  further  advice  to  give  you.  Mr.  Eltinge 
will  sooq  be  back;  take  him  as  your  counsellor.  I'm  going 
to  gather  some  flowers  for  dinner." 

He  at  once  was  on  his  crutches  and  in  close  pursuit,  but 
she  flitted  away  before  him  till  in  despair  he  returned  to  the 
rustic  seat.  Then  she  shyly  and  hesitatingly  began  to  ap- 
proach, apparently  absorbed  in  tying  up  her  flowers. 

"Haven't  you  observed  that  I  am  a  cripple?"  he 
asked. 

"I  have  observed  that  you  are  a  very  nimble  one." 

"I  think  you  are  very  cruel  to  treat  a  helpless  man  in 
this  style." 

"Indeed,  sir,  I  have  not  taken  away  your  crutches. 
When  you  spoke  of  a  helpless  man,  to  whom  did  you 
refer?"' 

"I  thought  you  once  said  that  mercy  was  'twice 
bless'd,'  " 


LIFE    AND    TRUST  513 

''That's  a  truism  that  has  become  a  little  trite.  Don't 
you  think  Mr.  Eltinge  will  like  my  bouquet?" 

"Here  is  a  flower  that  to  me  is  worth  all  that  ever 
bloomed.  Come  and  tell  me  if  you  still  recognize  it,"  and 
he  took  out  the  little  note-book  in  which  was  pressed  the 
imperfect  and  emblematic  rosebud. 

"Poor  little  thing!"  Ida  sighed,  looking  over  his  shoul- 
der, "how  faded  it  has  become!" 

By  a  motion  that  was  almost  instantaneous  he  dropped 
the  note-book  and  caught  her  hand.  "Yes,  Ida,"  he  said 
eagerly,  "it  is  faded,  but  it  grows  dearer  to  me  daily,  as  you 
will  long  after  the  exquisite  color  has  faded  from  your  face. 
Ida  Mayhew,  the  brook  has  stopped  now  because  it  cannot* 
help  itself,  nor  will  it  ever  go  on  again,  even  in  spring  or 
summer,  unless  it  bears  you  away  with  it." 

She  turned  and  looked  him  full  in  his  eyes,  in  accord- 
ance with  her  custom  when  she  felt  that  she  must  know  the 
innermost  thoughts  of  the  speaker. 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,"  she  said,  very  gravely,  "let  that  little 
emblem  there  remind  you  that  you  are  speaking  to  a  very 
faulty  and  ignorant  girl.  I  cannot  regain  in  a  few  weeks 
what  I  have  lost  in  a  wasted  life.     You  may  regret—" 

"Hush,  Ida;  for  once  I  will  not  listen  to  you.  When 
I  believed  myself  dying  my  chief  thought  was  of  you,  and 
when  I  heard  sounds  near  me,  in  my  half  unconscious  state 
I  called  your  name." 

"Oh,    that  it  had   been   my   privilege  to   answer,"   she 

sighed. 

"You  saved  me  when  I  was  in  far  worse  peril,"  he 
resumed  in  words  that  flowed  like  a  torrent.  "You  saved 
my  honor,  my  manhood;  you  saved  me  from  folly  that 
would  have  blasted  my  life.  I  owe  far  more  to  you  than 
to  Jennie  Burton,  and  I  know  at  what  cost  to  yourself. 
Ida,  I  shall  never  hide  anything  from  you.  I  came  back 
last  Monday  for  my  sketch-book,  and  I  heard  you  say:  lIt 
would  be  easier  for  me  to  die  than  give  him  up  for  your 
sake,  Jennie  Burton.'     Then  only  I  learned  your  secret; 


514  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

then  for  the  first  I  understood  your  self-sacrifice  for  the 
sake  of  honor  and  duty.  Until  then  I  had  thought  the 
struggle  to  forget  would  be  on  my  part  only.  From  that 
moment  never  did  a  man  honor  a  woman  more  than  I  honor 
and  reverence  you.  My  mother  gave  me  this  ring  and  told 
me  never  to  part  with  it  until  I  found  a  woman  that  I  could 
love  and  honor  even  more  than  her,  and  I  never  shall  part 
with  it  till  I  put  it  on  your  hand/'  and  she  had  scarcely 
time  to  glance  down,  before  she  saw  a  diamond  glittering 
on  her  engagement  finger. 

"I  gave  up  that  which  was  life  to  me  for  His  sake,  and 
thus  soon  He  gives  back  to  me  far  more,"  Ida  murmured, 
and  she  rested  her  head  on  Van  Berg's  shoulder  with  a  look 
of  infinite  content.  A  moment  later  she  added:  "Oh,  I'm 
so  glad  for  father's  sake." 

"Are  you  not  a  little  glad  for  your  own  ?" 

"Oh,  Harold!  compare  this— God's  way  out  of  trouble 
with  the  one  I  chose!" 

"The  past  has  gone  by  forever,  Ida,  and  you  have  re- 
ceived your  woman's  soul  in  the  good  old-fashioned  way. 
In  my  heart  of  hearts  I  have  changed  your  name  from  Ida 
to  Ideal." 

They  had  not  noticed  that  Mr.  Eltinge  had  come  down 
the  garden  walk  to  summon  them  to  dinner.  The  old  gen- 
tleman discovered  that  there  had  been  a  transformation 
scene  in  his  absence,  although  he  took  off  his  spectacles 
twice  and  wiped  them  before  he  seemed  fully  satisfied  of 
its  reality. 

"Ahem!  I  fear  our  plain  dinner  will  be  a  very  prosaic 
Interruption;  but — "   he  began. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Eltinge,"  cried  Ida,  springing  to  him,  her 
cheeks  putting  to  shame  any  flower  of  his  garden,  "I  owe 
all  this  to  you!" 

"Mr.  Van  Berg,"  said  Mr.  Eltinge,  with  the  stately 
courtesy  of  the  old  school,  "with  your  permission  I  now 
shall  take  full  payment,"  and  stooping  down  he  kissed 
her  tenderly,  with  a  fervent  "God    bless  you,  my  child! 


LIFE   AND    TRUST  515 

God  bless  you  both!     I  thought  it  would  all  end  in  this 
way." 

It  was  late  in  the  day  when  Ida  drove  up  to  the  steps  of 
the  Lake  House  and  assisted  Van  Berg  to  alight  with  a  care 
and  solicitude  that  Stanton,  who  was  grimly  watching  them, 
thought  a  trifle  too  apparent.  She  gave  a  hasty  side-glance 
to  her  cousin,  but  would  not  trust  herself  to  do  more  in  the 
presence  of  others. 

4 'Mr.  Van  Berg,  I  would  like  to  see  you  alone  a  few  mo- 
ments," said  Stanton  in  a  low  tone. 

The  artist  hobbled  cheerfully  into  one  of  the  small  private 
parlors,  and  stretched  himself  out  very  luxuriously  on  the 
sofa,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "Take  the  rocking-chair,  Ik." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Stanton  stiffly.  "I  shall  trespass  but 
a  few  moments  on  your  time — only  long  enough  to  keep  a 
promise  and  perform  a  duty.  In  circumstances  that  you  can 
scarcely  have  forgotten,  you  assured  me  that  I  was  in  honor 
bound  to  give  my  cousin,  Miss  Mayhew,  a  brother's  care. 
You  asserted  very  emphatically  that  with  her  peculiar  tem- 
perament she  ought  to  be  saved  from  any  serious  trouble. 
What  I  then  promised  from  a  sense  of  duty  I  now  perform 
from  warm  affection.  As  far  as  a  brother's  love  and  care  is 
concerned,  Ida  Mayhew  is  my  sister,  and  as  a  brother  I  in- 
sist, in  view  of  your  relations  with  Miss  Burton,  that  you 
do  not  give  to  her  so  much  of  your  society.  Not  that  I 
mean  to  insinuate  in  the  faintest  possible  way,  that  my 
cousin  entertains  for  you  anything  more  than  an  ordinary 
and  friendly  regard.  It  is  my  intention  only  to  remind  you 
that  your  course  has  been  a  little  peculiar  of  late,  to  say  the 
least,  and  that  it  is  often  far  better  to  prevent  trouble  than 
to  remedy  it." 

"The  mischief  is  all  done,  Ik;  you  are  too  late." 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?" 

"Well,  one  thing  at  a  time.  Miss  Burton  has  refused 
me  absolutely." 

"I  don't  wonder!"  said  Stanton,  indignantly. 

"Nor  I  either,  Ik.      You  are  a  hundredfold  more  worthy 


516  A    FACE    ILLUMINED 

of  her  than  I  am  or  ever  was.  I  once  regarded  myself  as 
slightly  your  superior,  Isaac,  but  circumstances  have  proved 
that  you  have  enough  good  metal  in  you  to  make  a  dozen 
such  men  as  I  am. ' ' 

"I  want  explanations,  not  compliments,"  said  Stanton, 
sternly. 

uSit  down,  and  I'll  tell  you  everything.  Then  you  can 
brain  me  with  one  of  my  crutches,  if  you  wish,"  and  Van 
Berg  related  to  Stanton  substantially  all  that  occurred  be- 
tween himself  and  Jennie  Burton.  "She  said  I  could  tell 
you  after  she  was  gone,  but  I  think  it  is  best  you  should 
know  before.  She  understands  and  honors  you,  and  you 
should  understand  her.  Her  heart  is  buried  so  deep  in 
some  unnamed,  unmarked  grave  that  it  will  find,  I  fear, 
no  resurrection  on  earth.  I  told  you  the  first  day  she  came 
to  this  house  that  she  had  had  an  experience  that  separated 
her  from  ordinary  humanity,  and  also  predicted  that  she 
would  wake  you  up  and  make  a  man  of  you.  She  has  made 
you  a  prince  among  men.  You  are  my  elder  brother,  Ik, 
from  this  time  forth,  and  I  won't  put  on  any  more  airs  with 
you.  As  I  said,  your  remarks  in  regard  to  your  cousin 
came  a  little  late.  You  see,  my  ring  is  gone,  and  you  know 
I  have  often  laughingly  told  you  that  my  mother  gave  it  to 
me  on  conditions  that  made  it  very  safe  property.  I  have 
parted  with  it,  however,  and  very  honestly  too;  but  you 
will  see  it  again,  soon." 

"Van,"  said  Stanton,  with  a  slight  quaver  in  his  voice, 
and  a  very  sickly  attempt  at  his  old  humor,  "I  have  for- 
feited my  wager  that  followed  your  prediction,  which  I 
thought  so  absurd  at  the  time;  but  I'll  forgive  you  every- 
thing, and  bestow  my  blessing  on  you  and  Ida,  if  you  will 
paint  me  a  portrait  of  Miss  Burton." 

"The  best  I  can  possibly  make,  Ik,  and  she  shall  look 
as  she  did  when  she  called  you  a  true,  noble- hearted  gen- 
tleman." 

Van  Berg  now  found  no  difficulty  in  bringing  about  a 
friendship  between  Ida  and  Jennie  Burton,  and  the  two 


LIFE    AND    TRUST  517 

maidens  spent  the  greater  part  of  Sabbath  afternoon  together. 
Ida  hid  nothing  in  her  full  confidence,  not  even  the  crime 
that  had  been  in  her  thoughts,  and  which  might  have  de- 
stroyed the  life  that  now  was  growing  so  rich  and  beautiful. 
When  her  pathetic  story  was  completed,  Jennie  said: 

"Mr.  Van  Berg  has  told  me  some  things  in  your  favor 
that  you  have  omitted.  I  cannot  natter  myself  now  that 
my  love  is  stronger  than  yours,  but  you  are  stronger,  you 
are  braver.  What  is  the  secret  of  your  strength?  Your 
religion  seems  to  do  you  more  good  than  mine  does  me." 

"Well,  Jennie,"  said  Ida,  musingly,  "there  seems  to  me 
this  difference:  you  have  a  God,  I  have  a  Saviour;  you 
have  a  faith,  I  have  a  tender  and  helpful  Friend.  Jesus 
Christ  has  said  to  those  who  love  and  trust  Him:  'Let  not 
your  hearts  be  troubled.'  He  said  these  words  to  men  who 
were  to  suffer  all  things,  and  did  so,  Mr.  Eltinge  told  me. 
It's  just  the  same  as  if  He  said,  You  don't  know,  I  do; 
leave  everything  to  me,  and  it  shall  all  be  for  the  best  in 
the  end.  See  how  all  my  trouble  this  summer  has  just  pre- 
pared for  this  happiness,  and  I  believe,  Jennie,  that  your 
eternity  of  happiness  will  be  made  all  the  richer  for  every 
sad  day  of  your  unselfish  life.  The  souls  of  such  men  as 
Harrold  Fleetwood  are  God's  richest  treasures,  and  He 
whose  name  is  Love  surely  kindled  such  love  as  yours  and 
his.  The  God  that  the  Bible  reveals  to  me  will  not  permit 
it  to  be  lost,"  and  with  Jennie's  head  on  her  bosom  she  sang 
low  and  sweetly: 

"No  hope,  'tis  said,  though  buried  deep, 
But  angels  o'er  it  vigils  keep ; 
No  love  in  sepulchre  shall  stay, 
For  Christ  our  Friend  has  rolled  away 
The  heavy  stone  of  death." 

"Oh,  sing  me  those  words  again,"  sobbed  Jennie;  "sing 
them  again  and  again,  till  they  fill  my  heart  with  hope." 

Ida  did  so. 

" Oh,  Ida!  God's  good  angel  to  me  as  well  as  to  Harold 
Van  Berg,"  said  Jennie,   smiling  through   her  tears.     "I 


518  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

bless  you  for  those  hopeful  words.  They  will  repeat  them= 
selves  in  my  heart  till  all  is  clear,  and  our  souls  that  God 
mated  are  joined  again.  My  Harrold  was  not  one  who  said 
'Lord,  Lord'  very  often,  but  I  know  that  he  tried  to  'do  the 
will  of  his  Father  which  is  in  heaven.'  I  am  going  to  your 
Friend,  Ida,  for  if  ever  a  poor  mortal  needed  more  than 
mortal  help  and  cheer,  I  do.  I  shall  just  give  up  every- 
thing into  His  hands,  and  wait  patiently." 

"The  life  He  will  give  you  again,  Jennie,  will  be  infi- 
nitely rioher  than  the  one  you  have  lost." 

Early  in  the  following  week  Miss  Burton  returned  to  her 
college  duties.  Before  parting,  she  said  to  Ida:  "I  do  not 
think  I  shall  ever  give  way  again  to  my  old,  bitter,  heart- 
breaking grief." 

Almost  every  one  in  the  house  wanted  to  shake  hands 
with  her  in  farewell.  Poor  Mr.  Burleigh  tried  to  disguise 
his  feelings  by  putting  crape  on  his  hat  and  tying  a  black 
shawl  of  his  wife's  around  his  arm;  but  he  blew  his  nose  so 
often  that  he  finally  said  he  was  "taking  cold  on  the  piazza, " 
and  so  made  a  hasty  retreat. 

Ida  and  Yan  Berg  accompanied  Jennie  to  the  depot,  but 
Stanton  was  not  to  be  found  till  they  reached  the  station, 
when  he  quietly  stepped  forward  and  handed  Jennie  her 
checks.  She  was  trying  to  say  something  that  she  meant 
should  show  her  appreciation,  when  the  train  thundered 
up,  and  he  handed  her  into  a  palace  car,  in  which  she  found 
he  had  secured  her  a  seat,  and  before  she  had  time  to  say  a 
word  her  tickets  were  in  her  hands  and  he  was  gone. 

When,  after  several  hours'  riding,  she  approached  a  sta- 
tion at  which  she  must  change  cars  and  recheck  her  trunks, 
a  friendly  voice  said  to  her: 

"Miss  Burton,  if  you  will  give  me  your  checks  I  will  at- 
tend to  this  little  matter  for  you. ' ' 

"Mr.  Stanton!"  she  exclaimed.    "What  does  this  mean?" 

"It  means  that  since  I  am  on  the  same  train  with  you,  I 
can  do  no  less  than  offer  so  slight  a  service." 

She  looked  at  him  very  doubtfully,  as  she  said:  "I  don't 


LIFE   AND    TRUST  519 

know  what  to  think  of  this  journey  of  jours.     Let  me  now 
pay  .you  for  my  ticket." 

11  Mr.  Van  Berg  handed  me  the  money  you  gave  him  for 
that  purpose.  It's  all  right.  Your  checks,  please;  there  is 
but  little  time." 

His  manner  was  so  quiet  and  assured  that  she  handed 
them  to  him  hesitatingly,  and  a  moment  later  stepped  out 
on  the  platform. 

In  a  few  moments  she  called:  "Oh,  Mr.  Stanton,  you 
have  lost  your  train." 

"Not  at  all.  I  am  going  to  Boston.  There  are  your 
checks  once  more,  and  here  is  your  train  and  seat,"  he 
added,  as  he  accompanied  her  to  it.  Then  he  lifted  his 
hat,  and  was  about  to  depart,  when  she  said:  "Since  you 
are  on  the  same  train,  perhaps  you  will  venture  to  take 
this  seat  near  me.  I  never  was  curious  about  a  gentle- 
man's business  before;  but  it  strikes  me  as  a  rather  odd 
coincidence  that  you  are  going  to  Boston  to-day."' 

'kA  great  many  people  go  to  Boston,"  he  replied. 

l>It's  for  my  sake  you  are  taking  this  long  journey,  Mr. 
Stanton,"  she  said,  regretfully. 

'Yes, "  he  replied,  in  the  same  quiet,  undemonstrative 
manner  that  he  had  maintained  toward  her  for  some  weeks 
past;  "this  journey  is  for  your  sake,  and  for  your  sake  I 
shall  take  a  very  different  journey  through  life  from  the  one 
I  had  marked  out  for  myself.  I  know  your  sad  story,  Miss 
Burton.  I  expect  nothing  from  you,  I  hope  for  nothing, 
and  I  shall  never  ask  anything,  except  a  little  confidence 
on  your  part,  so  that  I  can  render  you  an  occasional  ser- 
vice. Never  for  a  moment  imagine  that  I  am  cherishing 
hopes  that  I  know  well  you  cannot  reward." 

11  Mr.  Stanton,  this  is  beyond  my  comprehension!" 

"There  seems  to  me  nothing  strange  or  unnatural  in  it," 
he  said.  "You  found  me  a  pleasure- loving  animal,  and 
through  your  influence  I  think  I  am  becoming  somewhat 
different.  You  have  taught  me  that  there  is  a  higher  and 
better  world  than  that  of  sense.     How  good  a  work  I  can 


520  A    FACE   ILLUMINED 

do  in  life  I  will  let  the  years  prove  as  they  pass.  But  I  do 
not  think  ray  feelings  will  ever  change  toward  yon,  save  as 
time  deepens  and  strengthens  them.  Van  thinks  all  the 
world  of  you,  as  well  he  may;  but  his  life  will  be  very 
happy  and  full  of  many  interests.  I  shall  think  of  you 
alone,  and  the  work  I  do  for  your  sake  until  I  can  add  an- 
other motive.  Of  course  I  believe  in  a  heaven — such  lives 
as  yours  make  one  necessary;  and  I  mean  to  find  a  way  of 
getting  there.  In  the  meantime,  you  are  my  motive;  but 
my  regard  for  you  shall  be  so  very  unobtrusive  that  I  trust 
you  will  not  resent  it,  and  the  thought  of  my  unseen  care 
and  watchfulness  may  in  time  come  to  be  a  pleasant  one." 

There  was  nothing  in  his  tone  or  manner  to  indicate  to 
their  fellow-travellers  that  he  was  not  speaking  on  the  most 
ordinary  topic;  and  he  looked  her  full  in  the  face  with  his 
clear  dark  eyes,  in  which  she  saw  only  truth  and  faithfulness. 

She  was  very,  very  deeply  touched,  and  she  could  not 
keep  the  tears  out  of  her  eyes  as  she  leaned  toward  him  and 
said  in  tones  that  no  others  could- hear: 

"I  am  no  longer  the  friendless  orphan  I  was  when  I 
came  to  the  Lake  House.  In  Mr.  Van  Berg  I  have  found 
a  friend  whom  I  can  trust;  in  you,  Ik  Stanton,  a  brother 
that  I  can  love." 

If  the  reader's  patience  has  not  failed  him  up  to  this 
long-deferred  moment,  it  shall  now  be  rewarded  by  a  few 
brief,  concluding  words. 

Mrs.  Mayhew  felt  considerably  aggrieved  that  she  had 
had  so  little  part  in  Ida's  engagement  with  the  wealthy  and 
aristocratic  Mr.  Van  Berg,  and  in  later  years  she  complained 
that  they  were  very  unfashionable,  and  spent  an  unreason- 
able amount  of  time  in  looking  after  all  kinds  of  charitable 
institutions.  Mr.  Mayhew  drank  ever  deeper  at  the  full 
fountain  of  his  child's  love,  and  is  serenely  passing  on  to 
an  honorable  old  age.  Mr.  Eltinge  is  now  beyond  age  and 
weakness,  but  Ida  often  murmurs  with  tears  in  her  eyes  as 
she  looks  at  his  portrait,  'lHe  is  just  speaking  to  me  as  he 
did  when  my  heart  was  breaking."     Stanton's  city  friends 


LIFE    AND    TRUST  521 

say  that  he  has  greatly  changed  and  might  stand  very  high 
as  a  lawyer  and  politician  if  he  were  not  so  quixotic  and 
prone  to  take  cases  in  which  there  was  no  money,  but  he  re- 
ceives letters  from  New  England  which  seem  to  compensate 
him  for  lack  of  large  fees.  Van  Berg  has  not  yet  regretted 
that  he  intrusted  ''faulty  Ida  May  hew"  with  his  happiness, 
and  he  is  more  anxious  than  ever  to  lure  her  to  his  studio. 
For  a  long  time  he  had  to  take  the  truth  of  her  faith  on 
trust,  but  at  last  he  stood  by  her  side  at  God's  altar  and 
confessed  that  Name  which  has  been  the  lowliest  and  grand- 
est of  earth. 

Ida  is  still  very  human,  but  with  all  her  faults,  her  hus- 
band often  whispers  in  her  ear:  "Not  Ida,  but  Ideal."  She 
is  continually  giving  up  her  life  for  Christ's  sake,  and 
as  often  finds  it  coming  back  to  her  in  some  richer,  sweeter 
form ;  and  by  her  simple,  joyous  faith  has  led  many  to  the 
Friend  she  found  in  the  quaint  old  garden,  and  who  says  of 
all  who  come,  "I  will  give  unto  them  eternal  life." 

Jennie  Burton  is  still  waiting;  but  at  the  end  of  each 
day  of  faithful  work  she  sings  the  song  of  hope  that  Ida 
taught  her: 

"No  hope,  'tis  said,  though  buried  deep, 
But  angels  o'er  it  vigils  keep ; 
No  love  in  sepulchre  shall  stay, 
For  Christ  my  Friend  will  roll  away 
The  heavy  stone  of  death." 


THE   END 


M119746 

•Pac- 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


